


Exploiting Weakness

by Timid_Timbuktu



Series: The Strength of Blood [1]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Timid_Timbuktu/pseuds/Timid_Timbuktu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sebastian Monroe is captured by the rebels, Miles insists that he is strong enough to lead the interrogation, only to find out how wrong he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nothing to Me

**Author's Note:**

> After watching the Miloe confrontation in the mid-season finale, I wished that I could see an entire episode of just that. And so this mini-fic was born. Some plot, lots of angst, and maybe a little bit of sex (although smut isn’t my normal outing, so it won’t dominate since it isn't my forte).
> 
> Un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine.

_In which Miles Matheson is weaker than he thinks he is._

Nora entered the office, a smug smile creeping into her features.

“Miles, we got him.”

Miles glanced up from the tactical maps that littered his desk. It felt so much like his previous life in Philly, planning assaults on rebels with Bass, that it was hard to remember the dichotomy shift, that he was now planning assaults on Bass with the rebels.

“Who?”

Nora smiled, “General Monroe.”

Miles’s heart stopped, dread filling his body where joy should have been, “He’s dead?”

Nora paused, her eyes narrowing as she studied Miles. She’d heard the fear in his voice, the way he whispered the words. Her smile faded.

“No, sir. We captured him. He is locked in the old armory.”

Miles felt his breath come back, as he rubbed his hand across his brow. They had him, contained but not dead. Miles’s relief was complete and wholly unexpected. For months, he’d tried desperately to hate Bass, especially after Bass had given him ample reasons, but obviously love died harder than Miles had ever expected.

He rose abruptly, his chair scraping against the hardwood floor, “I’ll head down right down.”

Nora stepped in front of the door, blocking his path, “Miles, I don’t think you should be the one to interrogate him, due to your obvious emotional attachment.”

“Your opinion is noted and rejected. Now move aside.”

“Miles—“

He advanced on her, never touching, not quite an outward threat, but she stepped back reflexively anyway.

“Emotional attachment is the exact reason I should be the one to interrogate him. His attachment to me is his greatest weakness, and when interrogating an enemy, you always strike at the heart of his weakness. So, please, Nora, move aside.” 

He had contained his joy at knowing that Bass was alive and had buried it behind of façade of professionalism. His words were certainly accurate, exploiting a captive’s weakness was the first lesson in Interrogation 101, but would Nora see through him? Would she see that it was a hollow excuse to finally be in the same room as Bass after nine long months of fighting?

Nora stepped aside, “Very well, but you should have someone else in the room.”

“No,” his voice was firm and decisive, “If there is anyone else but me, Bass will either clam up or throw around bravado. Trust me, Nora. He can try to lie to me, but he won’t succeed. He cares too much, so the truth will come out. He’s always been emotional, especially when it comes to me.”

“But Miles,” her voice was pleading, “you care about him too. He is your weakness too.”

Miles’s first extinct was to argue, to tell her how wrong she was, anything to get her to step aside so he could see Sebastian, but all of the lies died on his tongue, and the truth came out unbidden.

“Exactly. That is why only I can get into his head. I’m his weakness because he is mine and he knows it. He’ll try to exploit that and I’ll use it to my advantage. Nora, he is the one handcuffed to a chair, and he’ll stay that way. I assure you. We'll have plenty of guards posted outside the door and outside the building. Everything will be fine.”

Nora shook her head, but Miles could see that she had already changed her mind. She stepped aside and he was out the door without a second thought. His mind was a blur, and he didn’t notice Aaron’s curious gaze as he swept out of central command and down the dirty street. He didn’t see the confused and starving rebels who stared at him as he practically ran past the barracks to the old armory, rushing into the darkened building, past four guards, down a hallway, past two more guards and finally to a large iron door. Miles’s hand hesitated for a split second before wrenching it open to find a man in a chair, hands handcuffed behind his back, his shoulders hunched. Sebastian’s head was down, but he raised it at the sound of the door opening, his blue eyes looking at Miles with complete loathing. The hatred made Miles pause, taking in the sight of his former best friend, bruises lacing his face, blood soaking the left sleeve of his uniform. Miles suppressed the instinct to go to Bass, to comfort him and instead stepped slowly into the cell, closing the door behind him. He heard the guards lock it. He took a deep breath, pulled the other chair three feet away from Bass and sat down.

“You’ve looked better,” it was out of Miles’s mouth before he could think to suppress it. _Great opening line, Miles,_ he thought, _mock him. That will make him open up._

Bass looked back down, silent. But the words were already out, so Miles rolled with it.

“Is that wound on your left arm still bleeding, because I can get someone in here to dress it?”

Silence.

“How about those bruises on your face?”

Silence.

“Do you have any other injuries under those clothes that might need tending?”

A sarcastic smile spread across Bass’s face and he looked up.

“If you want to undress me, Miles, you only need to ask. You don’t have to hide it under the pretense of tending my wounds.”

His voice was hoarse from lack of use, but Miles still felt a flood of heat in his gut hearing that voice, the voice that had been there to love him and support him throughout the years. He smiled in spite of himself.

“Maybe later,” Miles said, the joke dying in the air between them as Bass’s expression fell back into unrestrained hatred. One step forward, two steps back. Miles cursed himself. He needed to start thinking before he spoke, but Bass had a way of destroying Miles’s ability to think. He always had. This situation was delicate, liable to fissure and break apart at any moment. Bass was obviously emotionally broken, teetering on the edge and it had been stupid to make light of the previous depth of their relationship.

In the silence that spread between them, Miles thought of a dozen things to say, tactics to take. Why he chose to cut to the chase, he didn’t know, but maybe it was because he wanted answers. He wanted to know why Bass’s soul had turned so dark.

“You killed Danny, you know.”

The hatred didn’t leave Bass’s face, but surprise entered his eyes, “I don’t recall killing Danny.”

“I mean,” Miles’s voice grew harsh, “Your men killed Danny in an air raid.”

Bass chuckled without joy, “It’s funny how the lies spill so easily off your tongue. My men? They are your men, temporarily on loan to me after you abandoned them.”

“Don't play that shit with me,” Miles said, “You commanded those men to attack. You killed Danny.”

“And you gave me the men to do it. Ironic, isn’t it?”

“So, you don’t even care? You are now responsible for the deaths of my brother and my nephew, and you don’t care?”

Bass smiled, but Miles could see that he was trying to hide his anger, trying to steel his emotions. The crack in Bass’s façade was there, Miles just had to find a way to blow it apart.

“I have to admit that I never thought you would be stupid enough to believe your own hype, Miles,” Bass said, his voice surprisingly even, “Play the hero of the rebellion long enough, win the misplaced adoration of your niece, and you actually start to believe it. You really think you’re the hero here?”

“Of course I don’t think I’m the hero,” Miles muttered, looking down into his hands clasped tightly together on his lap, “I know what I am, even if Charlie doesn’t see it. I know that there are no heroes, just men and women trying to survive.”

“Touching,” Bass smirked, “Especially coming from a man so adept at killing those men and women.”

“Fuck you,” it was out of Miles’s mouth before he could think. He was rapidly losing the power in this exchange.

“Maybe later,” Bass mimicked Miles’s previous words, a genuine smile spreading across his face. He was beautiful when he smiled. He used to smile all of the time. It made Miles want to punch him and kiss him at the same time, uncertain which desire would win. Nora had been right. Bass had too much power over him. He stood up suddenly and paced toward the door, trying to get distance between himself and his captive, ignoring his best friend’s condescending chuckle as he fled. He had to pull himself together. He had to remember Ben and Danny. Bass had killed them. He reached inside of himself, trying to capture the anger over their deaths, but it slipped away before he could catch it…because the anger simply wasn’t there. If Bass had killed Charlie, then maybe Miles could have found the strength of vengeance, but he realized that Ben and Danny hadn’t been enough. He loved Bass so much more than he had ever loved either of them, his real brother, his only nephew. Somehow Bass rose above them.

The anger wouldn’t come.

He turned back to find Sebastian studying him, his eyes full of calculation and just a hint of tenderness. It had been the first compassionate expression Bass had afforded Miles and it scared the hell of him.

“What?” Miles asked. Apparently tactics and subtlety were for better interrogators, not Miles Matheson.

The glimmer in Bass’s eyes brightened, “It was a great performance. I actually believed you. I actually believed that I meant nothing to you. If the Oscars still existed, you should have one.”

Miles felt like he was back there in that hallway, gun pointed at Bass, immobilized by the love and forgiveness spewing from that beautiful mouth. He felt like a moth mesmerized by the beauty of the flame right before its wings are singed off.

“Remember that night in the graveyard?” It was amazing how quickly Sebastian could transition from anger to thoughtful reflection.

“Of course,” Miles didn’t trust himself to speak more than a few words in a row. What if he accidently showed his hand, told Bass how much he loved him, how much he missed him?

“Remember how I thought that I’d lost my entire family? Because I forgot that family can come from blood and from love. I forgot that there was one more person in the world who was my family.”

He paused and Miles didn’t know if Bass expected him to interject. But what could he say? It had been hard enough to say those words once. He knew he couldn’t pull off a convincing performance twice.

“That drunk driver took my parents and sisters from me and you pulled me back from the edge by reminding me that I still had you. So tell me Miles, who really killed the last member of my family, that drunk driver or you?”

The anger that Miles had been desperately searching for welled inside of him like an explosion.

“It was you, Sebastian,” his voice was low and dark, “You killed our relationship.”

“Right, right,” Bass said, sarcasm dripping off every word, “because I was too far gone, too evil? Too much like you, right? Or was it the women I let into my bed?”

Miles recoiled as if slapped. To have Bass throw his women so callously in his face? Miles knew perfectly well whether he wanted to kiss Bass or punch him now. He clenched his fist, trying to regain control of his anger. Bass smiled. How could Bass be the one handcuffed to a chair in enemy territory and still be the one in control?

“And yet, you forget that it was your idea,” Bass continued, “That the Commanding General of the Monroe Republic had to appear straight and virile. That the Commanding General should have a line of women constantly parading through his bedroom.”

“You didn’t have to fuck them with such obvious pleasure,” Miles was seething. He could feel his murderous side itching to get out.

“Oh, yeah,” Bass’s bright sarcastic tone sounded especially loud compared to Miles’s quiet rage, “Because nothing says virility like sleeping beside a woman without fucking her. That doesn’t seem suspicious at all.”

“Fine,” Miles could barely speak from the anger, “You’re right. It was my idea. The men were talking and I thought I could handle you being with women. And I was handling it, until I heard for myself just how much you loved your new task.”

“Tell me again, Miles,” Sebastian’s voice dropped to a seductive whisper, “about how I am nothing to you.”

Miles chose silent glaring as his response. Bass laughed.

“You are such a dick,” he said amidst his laughter, “It’s sex, of course I enjoyed it. I had to enjoy it in order to do it. Maybe you should have gone out and found some women too, rather than plotting and failing to kill me. Sexual frustration isn’t good for your decision making skills, Miles.”

“And how would that have gone? If I had invited a woman into my bed, what would have happened to her?”

“She’d be dead,” Bass said, with no malice or jest. It was mere fact, “But I wouldn’t have tried to kill you.”

Miles glared at him, trying to think of a way to stop this conversation. It was getting out of control. But Sebastian was relentless, a man possessed with only one desire, to drive Miles into showing his true feelings.

“Just be honest with me,” Bass said, desperation filling his voice though he was obviously trying to smother it, “That is why you tried to kill me. You always played it so cool in our relationship. You always made me do the work. It was always me who ended a fight by saying ‘I’m sorry’ even when you were the one at fault. I spent years, Miles, thinking that I loved you more than you loved me. But I see now that I was wrong. You love me. That is why you wanted to kill me, and it’s also why you can’t.”

“How do you manage to always commandeer the conversation? Why do we always talk about what you want to talk about?”

“Well, excuse me. What is it you want to talk about?”

Silence filled the room. What did he want to talk about? Nothing. Nothing could ever fix the past, Monroe’s descend, Miles’s two failed attempts to kill him, the deaths of Ben and Danny. Too many tragedies and mistakes hung between them. Miles had nothing to say that would ever fix this. So, instead, he and Bass were destined to circle each other like broken-winged birds, lashing out and hurting one another, but never striking with enough force to kill.

Miles shook his head and sat down. He just wanted the years back. He wanted a chance to make different decisions. He gazed into his hands, lost.

“You’re everything to me,” the words were out of Miles’s mouth before he could stop them, so quiet he wasn’t sure that Bass had heard him. But when he heard Sebastian breathe in sharply, he knew that the truth was out. He couldn’t take the words back.

“So, why didn’t you talk to me then?” Bass’s voice was quiet, laced with doubt for the first time.

Miles couldn’t look at him, too afraid and broken to speak earnestly with those gorgeous blue eyes on him. So, he kept his eyes on his hands and started small.

“You were always the nice one, the moral one. It’s what loved about you. And then I turned you into this, and I knew I was dragging you under. I thought…I thought it might be better…Fuck, I thought you might be better without me.”

He paused, hoping that Bass would say something. Bass had always been the eloquent one, the one capable of expressing his feelings perfectly in words. Whereas, Miles stumbled blindly through his feelings always hoping that Sebastian would just understand, so that he wouldn’t be forced to explain them. He looked up to see a masked, unemotional expression on Bass’s face. His former lover, always so open, was completely closed. There was no easy way out of this conversation, so he plunged in.

“You had your women,” Miles was looking straight into Bass’s eyes. No more fear, just the truth, “I heard you with that brunette, Amy. I heard you saying things I thought you only said to me. And I wanted to kill both of you, right there and then. You don’t know how close I came, but instead I walked out. As you know I didn’t come back for two weeks. But after I calmed down and thought about all of it, I realized that if I left, you could have that world. You could lead the men and be free of my influence. I realized that it was my fault that you had changed and that maybe if I simply didn’t come back you could find yourself again. Find the Sebastian I fell in love with.”

“But you did come back,” Bass whispered, still hiding his emotions, “And you tried to kill me.”

“That’s how good I am at lying. Look at you; you still believe that I tried to kill you. I never intended to kill you, but you needed to hate me in order to move on.”

“You son of a bitch,” Bass had lost his ability to hide his emotions as tears welled in his eyes. It filled Miles with courage, to finally see his old lover in those eyes, the real Sebastian Monroe rather than the cold, hard shell that Bass had constructed to protect himself.

“I guessed I misjudged how you would react.”

Bass laughed sarcastically, “Oh really, just a tiny misjudgment. So, is that why you came back a second time with that beautiful speech? ‘You are not my family. You are nothing to me.’ Even after you'd tried to kill me, I still didn’t hate you, so you had drive the knife in deeper?”

He was throwing Miles’s words back at him like they bullets, like they could kill Miles the same way they had killed Bass. As if he didn’t realize that those words had already killed Miles when he’d been forced to say them. He just needed Bass to move on, to forget about him. God, why couldn’t Sebastian just see that he was better off without him?

“Well,” Bass was still talking, though the pounding in Miles’s brain was making it difficult to focus, “Congratulations. You got your wish because I hate you, Miles Matheson. I. Hate. You.”

Miles felt something inside of him break. Even if the words were merely said in anger, hearing those three words come out of Bass’s mouth cut him to the core. A few seconds ago, he’d been wrong to think that he understood how Bass had felt standing in that hallway, pleading and on the verge of tears, only to hear “You are nothing to me” come out of Miles's mouth. Now he understood. He felt like he would never be happy again, like he had lost the only thing that ever really mattered. He had been so focused on destroying Bass’s love for him, that he had never stopped to consider how it would feel to succeed. He wanted to cry, to yell, but he felt immobilized and numb. He felt dead.

Tears began to fall from Bass’s eyes onto his cheeks. The room had plunged into silence and Miles heard an owl hoot in the distance, not something he heard very often in this region.

“Do you remember when we used to go fly fishing, Miles?”

It was so non sequitur that it pulled Miles’s brain back into his body. “What?” he asked, confused.

“Remember all of the different lures I used to make? I was pretty good at it, but you couldn’t make one to save your life,” Bass laughed half-heartedly.

Miles hadn’t thought about that summer in years. He smiled at the memory, the numbness temporarily leaving his body. “I hated looking through the magnifying glass.”

“Remember how I made all of those green highlander flies the summer we decided that we were going to catch a salmon in Lake Erie.”

Miles smiled, “Yeah, that was a stupid idea. But those red ones always worked really well on bass.”

“I got pretty good at making those.”

“I miss that,” Miles muttered.

“Me too,” Bass said, “It was fun trying to figure out which fish we wanted to catch each season.”

Sometime during their conversation, Miles had felt warmth and feeling return to his body. He’d temporarily forgotten their previous words. _I hate you…you are nothing to me._ He was lost in those teenage summers on the river, fishing with his best friend.

“So, tell me something,” Sebastian’s voice was quiet and thoughtful, “what kind of lure would you use if you wanted to catch Miles Matheson?”

Miles stopped breathing, as Bass looked at him with complete intensity.

“No. What have you done?”

“What do you mean ‘what have I done’? I’ve been here the whole time,” Bass’s voice had gone hard and cruel.

“Charlie?” Miles was out of his chair, shaking, “Rachel? Nora? Which one are you going after?”

Bass laughed, “Just answer the fucking question. What lure would you use to catch Miles Matheson?”

“Charlie?”

“Ah, the beautiful, brave Charlotte. But, I didn’t know where she was since she was with you. I didn’t know where you were. You were hiding from me.”

“Oh God. Sebastian Monroe?” Miles started to back toward the door.

“I knew you’d get there eventually,” Bass smiled, leaning back against the chair, “Did you really think I’d ever let your whore, Nora, take me in alive. If that bitch and I met on the battlefield for real, one of us would end up dead.”

Miles knew he needed to run and tell central command that an attack was coming, that General Monroe had offered himself up as bait. But Bass was holding him captive in that cell with his hatred. The numbness came flooding back. Miles couldn’t breathe.

“I meant it, I hate you, but that probably wouldn’t have been enough to stage something this elaborate. If only you hadn’t made Major Neville hate you too. You know that Tom and I often don’t get along. But then you came in and held a knife to Julia’s throat and you united us. One single goal between us: to destroy you…completely.”

Miles was backing toward the door. He had to escape. He had to warn someone. An attack was coming. He shook his head, clearing his thoughts and suddenly his brain was screaming at him.

Move, Miles, Move!

“Fuck you,” he said turning to the door, but it was already open. He hadn’t heard it open, too focused on his former lover and the beautiful memories of fishing and glimmering rivers. He hadn’t heard the guards die, but there they were, prone with arrows sticking out of their chests, as Major Tom Neville, crossbow in hand, stood over their bodies.

“Miles,” he pulled the key from one of the bodies and threw it at Miles who caught it without thinking, “Release General Monroe.”

“No,” Miles said, and Tom unleashed an arrow into his foot. He cried out and fell over. It had been a long time since he had been shot with an arrow. He’d forgotten how much more painful it was than a bullet.

“Fine, I'll do it,” Tom replied. Miles felt Tom step past him, heard the clinking of keys and cuffs. He pulled the arrow out of his foot. It made a squishing sound that nauseated him, but he pushed the bile down his throat. He had to stand and somehow make his way into the open. He pushed himself to his knees, ready to endure the pain of standing, but it was too late. He felt Sebastian’s hand cup the back of his head. The touch was light and loving. Miles froze as Tom painfully wrenched his hands behind his back, cuffing them together. 

“Here,” Tom said, placing an almost empty roll of duct tape on the chair and heading for the door, “I’ll check the hall and the perimeter, and send you the all clear.”

Miles would have cursed his own stupidity, but the pain was still fresh and throbbing and he was focused too much on suppressing the nausea to consider how complete his failure had been.

Once they were alone, Bass knelt in front of him, tucking his fingers under Miles’s chin and tilting his head up. Bass’s face was inches away, smug and beautiful. God, he was beautiful. Even when Miles hated him, and he certainly hated him in this moment, Sebastian was always beautiful.

“Miles,” he whispered seductively. Miles felt heat roil through his body though he tried to deny it, “Major Neville and I are going to have such a wonderful time breaking you.”

“I hate you,” Miles said. He knew it was a lie, but it felt good to say it. 

“I hate you too,” Bass replied and leaned in to kiss him.

Miles pulled back. He tried to act like it was from disgust, but in reality he couldn’t stand for their first kiss in years to be like this. Forced, angry, cruel. Sebastian’s hand against the back of his head pushed his face closer.

“Don’t,” Miles muttered, turning away. Sebastian moved his hands to the sides of Miles’s jaw, cupping his face and forcing their lips an inch apart. Miles could feel Bass’s breath flutter across his mouth. His stomach turned with an odd mixture of longing and repulsion.

“No,” he said again, making Sebastian dig his fingers painfully into the sides of Miles’s neck, “Not like this, Bass. Please.”

Sebastian stopped his assault, but didn’t pull away, “Like what then?”

Miles simply stared back. What was he supposed to say? Willingly, lovingly, like it was before? As if they could ever recapture that joyous freedom. As if it could ever be anything besides this demented power struggle.

But if Miles had received no good luck this evening it finally came when he heard Neville’s owl hoot in the distance. It was exactly like the “owl hoot” that Miles had heard before Bass’s speech about fishing, obviously Neville’s signal to Bass that he was about to break into the armory. It had seemed strange at the time, but he had been too focused on Bass, just like always. Sebastian pulled away and looked up. Apparently the coast was clear.

“Saved by the bell,” he said with a smirk, grabbing the duct tape and ripping off a four-inch section, “Don’t try anything, Miles. It will just result in more pain when we get to Philly.”

Miles glared at him as he pressed the duct tape over Miles’s mouth and pulled him to his feet.

“I hope you can walk,” he muttered and dragged Miles out the door.


	2. Russian Roulette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine; concrit welcome.

_In which Sebastian Monroe is stronger than he thinks he is_

The sun was setting as Bass pulled Miles out the armory, the sky alight with orange and yellow. It took Miles a moment to realize that the sky was also alight with orange flames, lapping from the barracks. The camp’s citizens were just beginning to understand that they were under attack, mothers running with children in their arms, teenage soldiers forming groups and yelling orders. Miles tried to pull away, desperate to help, but Bass dragged him back and held him flush against his body. It was a lover’s embrace.

“No, Miles,” he whispered into his ear.

Miles screamed behind the duct tape and threw his body against Bass, trying to topple him. It was no use. Bass was ready. He used the momentum to pull Miles toward of a copse of trees. As he was propelled into the underbrush, he looked back to see the militia marching into town, methodically shooting any rebel who raised a weapon. He thought of Charlie, of how she would certainly grab her gun and her crossbow and join in the fray. He had killed her and Nora and Rachel…and Danny and Ben. He had killed everyone he had ever loved.

Major Neville was standing beside three horses in a clearing. He regarded Miles with a self-satisfied smile and then saluted Bass.

“Syringe?” Bass asked, disregarding formality. Miles was too preoccupied by the sound of bullets and screaming to care what they did to him, to care why a syringe was needed. The needle sank into his neck with a sharp sting, pulling Miles’s attention back to Bass. He was so close that Miles could see the flecks of dark blue in the lighter blue of his eyes, so familiar that it was oddly soothing. The trees behind Bass began to spin. The world tilted, and Miles’s eyes closed as he fell into unconsciousness.

 

***********************************

He ascended from the blackness slowly, his head a pounding mess. The world was moving up and down, up and down, to the sound of a drum. He was dancing. 

He opened his eyes, squinting in the bright light of day, and saw the mane of a horse under him. Not a drum, but the rhythmic clomp of the horse’s hoofs. He groaned and tried to fall forward onto the horse’s neck, only to be held back by a firm arm around his waist that he hadn’t noticed before. He realized that he was nestled flush against a hard body that he knew well, almost as well as his own. He was still groggy and confused, so he leaned back and sighed. Bass’s breath tickled his ear and he nuzzled into his lover’s neck in response.

“Miles,” Bass whispered, “Are you waking up?”

“Hmm, you smell good,” Miles said, without thinking.

Bass chuckled, “Thanks. So do you.”

Miles sighed again and tried to reach back to grasp Bass’s head, but his arms wouldn’t move. He focused his swirling vision on his hands, cuffed in front of him. Memory came back like a flood. Bass, Tom, the attack, the flames, the hatred. He pulled away from Bass so quickly that he surprised him and started to slip off the side of the horse.

“Shit,” Bass cried as he tried, and failed, to catch him. It was only as Miles fell that he noticed that his hands were tied to the horse’s neck and that there was a rope around his chest tying him to Bass. _This isn’t going to go well,_ his fuzzy brain thought indifferently as he fell off of the horse, pulling Bass with him. His cuffs caught him painfully in mid-fall. The horse whinnied and bounded forward, dragging Miles and Bass along the ground. Through the pain he was only vaguely aware of Bass, who had managed to push Miles out of the way, and had lunged for the horse’s reins in an attempt to stop it. Bass murmured lovingly to the horse once he had it under control. He had always been better with horses than with people.

Miles planted his feet on the ground, forgetting about the injury to his left foot. The wound throbbed, making him dizzy. 

“Sir?” Major Neville was beside them in an instant.

“Everything is fine, Tom. He just woke up rather abruptly,” Sebastian replied, untying the rope the connected them.

“You should have tied him to the other horse, like I said.”

“When I want your opinion I’ll ask, _Major_.”

Miles swayed on his feet and started to fall to his knees, but Bass was there to catch him before he hurt himself again.

“Another syringe,” Bass said still holding Miles.

“No,” Miles chanted, “No, Bass, no.”

“Just one more, Miles. We can get you to base camp on one more.”

“No, I feel like shit,” Miles was frantic, “What the hell was in that thing?”

“Just a little something Dr. Jensen cooked up.”

Miles tried to pull back, but he felt weak and the world was still spinning. He bent over as far as he could, given that he was still tied to the horse, and tried to vomit. He tasted bile, but nothing came. He hadn’t eaten in hours. Dry heaves racked his body as Bass rubbed his hand along Miles’s back.

“Sir?” Tom’s condescending voice muttered from above.

“He needs water and maybe some food.”

As Tom strode to his horse, Bass bent down, “It’s okay, we needed to stop and switch horses again anyway. You can eat and regroup, then we’ll head out.”

“No drugs,” Miles muttered, still bent over as the dry heaves finally abated.

“Not an option, but I’ll give you a minute.”

Miles stood up and looked into Bass’s eyes, “You can duct tape my mouth again. Tie my legs to the saddle as well as my hands. I won’t be able to get away and I won’t be able to shout for help.”

Sebastian cocked his head and gave him a look of disbelief, but he hadn’t said “no.” Miles persevered.

“The light, it seems like midmorning, so we’ve been on the road for what, twelve hours? So if we’ve been riding all night then we must be, what, ten miles from the rebel encampment. You’ve won.”

“The Miles Matheson I know doesn’t beg unless he is up to something.”

“Bass—“

“Take the water, eat some bread,” Bass commanded as Tom returned, “Then we’ll get back on the road.”

Miles wanted to resist just as a show of strength, but his empty stomach and parched throat wouldn’t allow it.

“Good?” Bass asked after Miles had eaten two slices of bread and downed half of the canister of water. Miles ignored him, trying to think of a way out of this. First off, he couldn’t let Tom sink another syringe into his neck, a problem that he had to solve immediately, since Tom was already advancing on him. Bass wrapped his hands around Miles’s shoulders to hold him in place. Timing was everything. When the needle was only inches away, Miles swung his arms toward Tom and knocked it from his grasp. It arced through the air and landed with a thud onto the grass, but it didn’t shatter. Miles cursed. He needed a new strategy, but before he could think of anything, Sebastian ground the heel of his boot into Miles’s injured foot. The world disappeared save for the blinding pain. He didn’t even notice the needle puncture his neck, but knew he’d failed when his vision turned dark.

 

***********************************  
He awoke to a swift kick to the stomach. His head felt like a bomb had exploded inside of it, ten times worse than when he awakened the first time. He groaned, only to be kicked again. He rolled into a fetal position and tried to open his eyes. But the light, the light…it was worse than any hangover he had ever experienced, even after the night he and Bass had received their deployment papers for Iraq. That had been quite the bender.

“Stop, give him a second,” it was Bass, voice calm like always. 

Miles rolled onto his back and sighed, “Water.”

“Give him some.”

It helped a bit with the headache, enough that he could open his eyes. He was in a white military tent, officially inside enemy territory. Major Neville stood over him smirking, of course.

“Can you just give me one fucking minute before the kicking commences?” Miles asked, “I don’t know what was in that shit, but it sure as hell didn’t pass FDA.”

Bass smiled.

Neville glared and kicked him in the gut again. Apparently the answer was “no.”

Miles’s hands were cuffed behind his back, his legs duct taped together. Even if he had been physically able to fight, they weren’t taking any chances. No one ever took chances with Miles Matheson.

Neville pulled him up and punched him in the stomach, the lower back, the ribs. It was actually a blessing that the sleeping drug had made him feel so horrible; it made the beating seem like a pathetic cherry on the cake of an already miserable day. Neville landed a punch to his cheek.

“Tom,” Bass said, “Not the face.”

The beating continued until Miles was a coughing mess, every part of his body ached. Finally, Sebastian pulled Tom back and crouched in front of Miles.

“How are we doing?” he said casually.

“Great,” Miles replied, stifling a groan of pain and smiling.

“That is all for now, Tom. You’re dismissed.”

Tom grabbed Miles’s jaw and wrenched his face up, “It’s great to have you back, General.”

Miles surveyed his surroundings as Tom left. It was the “interrogation” tent, hooks and knives hung from a leather strap attached to the ceiling. That had been Miles’s idea. Bass had protested, saying it looked too much like the set of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, but that had been the point according to Miles. The anticipation of torture was often more powerful than pain itself.

“You must know that you can’t break me with beatings, right?” Miles’s voice was hoarse and he still felt like he might vomit, but he wasn’t the type to show weakness if possible.

Bass sat down beside a wooden table and picked up a long curved knife, “I don’t think Tom and I were planning on just beatings.”

“Semantics,” Miles replied, stone-faced, “I meant torture. You know me. You know it won’t work. I’ll never give up any information on the rebellion, on Georgia…on Randall.”

He mentioned Randall as a test, but Bass didn’t even flinch.

“I didn’t capture you for information.”

“Revenge,” it wasn’t a question, “Well, then enjoy carving me up. I won’t scream for you.”

Bass stared, expressionless, and placed the knife back onto the table. He sighed and leaned back into his chair.

“Where did the cockiness go?” Miles asked.

“What do you mean?” Still Sebastian seemed quiet and thoughtful, like something was bothering him. Miles pushed the pain aside and focused completely on Bass. Something wasn’t right with him.

“In the armory you were being a cocky asshole, and now,” Miles shrugged, which proved painful with his hands cuffed behind his back and his body an aching mass of bruises.

Sebastian didn’t reply. Yep, something had definitely gone wrong.

“What the hell is your plan, Bass?”

Still he only received that dead-eyed gaze in return. What did he want? Miles knew that revenge was a part of it, but Bass was lying when he claimed that he didn’t also want information. But there was no way he expected Miles to cave under torture. No, Miles needed other incentives to make him talk. It clicked together in his head. He smiled.

“You and Tom, you did your part perfectly. You captured me and successfully transported me here. But that wasn’t the only part of the plan, was it?”

Bass raised his eyebrow and said nothing.

“No, you needed something else, _someone_ else to get me to talk.”

Bass’s eyes remained glassy. Obviously, he wasn’t in the mood to help Miles down his road of discovery, but for some reason he wasn’t stopping him either.

“There was another team that was supposed to capture another hostage, someone I care about, right?”

Nothing.

“Who did you put in charge of that? Belzer? Colburn? Thompson?”

“Are you trying to do my monologue for me?” Bass asked.

“Well, since you won’t, someone has to,” Miles responded, glancing up at the ceiling. He knew he was on to something since Sebastian was acting so nonchalant, “I’m trying to give you some credit, Bass. You would have known that to break me you needed someone else to torture, someone I care about. If you were smart, you would have chosen Charlie.”

“Have I ever told you how adorable you look when you’re trying to think, Miles?” Sebastian asked.

Yep, he was definitely on to something.

“Charlie is a fierce woman,” Miles continued. “She wouldn’t be taken captive easily.”

“You aren’t going to fool me into talking.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve known you since I was eight years old. I know you better than I’ve ever known anyone. I can tell that that was your plan and I can tell that you failed.”

He was stretching the truth a bit, but he needed to push Bass into a corner. He wasn’t quite sure why Sebastian was still sitting there, letting Miles play him. Maybe it was the same reason Miles had let Bass play him in the armory, love, pathetic love.

“Fine, if I’m wrong and you have someone I care about, you should show your cards now.”

“You are my captive, I’ll show my cards when I see fit.”

Miles laughed in relief. He was right. He was so fucking right.

“You don’t have them. And if you don’t have one of those women in your custody, you don’t have a thing you can use against me.”

Bass stood up abruptly, fury in his eyes. It only made Miles laugh harder, not out of cruelty but out of sheer relief to know that his women might still be alive and safe. Bass kicked him in the gut.

“We captured 22 of your people. Tomorrow, I’ll gladly line them up and put a bullet in each of their heads one by one while you watch.”

Miles pushed himself onto his knees and gazed up at Bass, his eyes devoid of any emotion, “Every soldier in the rebellion knows, and accepts, the risks. You do what you have to do, but if one of those 22 prisoners isn’t Charlie, Nora or Rachel, then you know I’ll just sit there and watch.”

Bass looked fit to commit murder.

“That’s the problem with me,” Miles continued, “I have a very short list of people I care about, and everyone else means nothing.”

It was cruel, Miles knew, to repeat those words in any capacity, but he was just a tad pissed off with this entire situation. Sebastian grabbed him by the collar and punched him in the face before pushing him back onto the grass. It hurt more than any of Tom’s blows.

“Guards,” he yelled, turning away from Miles, “Take him to the medical tent. We don’t need his foot to get infected.”

 

***********************************

Sebastian strode back to his tent, oblivious to the soldiers who saluted him as he passed. He had known that Miles was going to figure it out. The entire time he had known that he needed to stop him. But it was Miles, his beautiful Miles. It was such a miracle to be able to look at him again that Bass had completely fucked up. He had let Miles talk his way to the truth, and now he knew Bass’s plan and that the plan had failed because Lieutenant Colburn was an idiot. Bass would have gladly stuck a sword into the Lieutenant’s gut if he hadn’t already died in the attack, killed by Charlie according to the last remaining member of his platoon.

He picked up a vase and threw it against the wall, forgetting that it was made of canvas. It sailed through undamaged, driving him further into a rage. He cursed and upended his wooden table, papers, pens and whiskey glasses rolling along the grass. He punched the overturned table, once, twice, three times before the pain stopped him, blood flowing from his knuckles. _Breathe,_ he thought. He took ten deep breaths, counting them and felt the anger ebb. 

He kept himself away from Miles during the rest of their journey to Philadelphia. He didn’t trust himself to be around him. Tom handled the situation, a daily beating and a daily report to General Monroe. But the closer they got to their destination, the more Bass dreaded it. Miles had been right. Sebastian had been so incredibly pleased to capture him, something he never quite believed he could accomplish, that he had cavalierly thrown around insults. _Tom and I are going to have so much fun breaking you._ He hadn’t even quite believed it when he’d said it, but he had been so angry with Miles and it had felt so good to say. 

With Philadelphia looming only a day’s ride away, Bass had to face the truth. He hadn’t enjoyed watching Tom beat Miles, something he would have relished had it been any other traitor. He’d been annoyed when Tom had fired that arrow into Miles’s foot, even though it had been necessary. He simply didn’t like to see Miles in pain, despite the myriad of torture fantasies he had concocted during the past nine months. Reality was so much more complicated and confusing than fantasy. 

But Sebastian’s biggest mistake had come when he’d decided to ride with Miles’s unconscious body rather than strapping him to the third horse like Tom had suggested. Holding Miles against him for an entire day, his erection nestled against the curve of Miles’s backside, revenge had quickly dissolved into desire. He’d forgotten the gravity of Miles. He was the sun, and everyone else mere planets, vying for his attention and love. For years Sebastian had been the chosen one in Miles’s universe, the person who Miles put above everyone else. It had been Miles’s love that had propelled Bass through the Iraq War, the loss of his family, the blackout. Miles had been his light. And then without warning, he was gone. Charlie was the chosen one now, and Bass was destined to circle Miles in darkness, cast out and forgotten.

They reached Philadelphia the following day as the sun was sinking toward the horizon. 

“Chain him in the interrogation room,” Bass instructed his soldiers.

They dragged a glaring, and limping, Miles into the General’s home as Bass turned back to Tom, extending his hand. The Major shook it, “President Monroe?”

“Thank you for your skill and loyalty in carrying out this mission.”

“Of course,” Tom seemed unnerved. He was too accustomed to being the target of Monroe’s suspicions.

“There will be an official ceremony next week, but the generals and I decided that you would be made Lieutenant Colonel upon our return.”

Tom let out a contented sigh, “Thank you, Mr. President.”

“Thank you,” Bass said with sincerity, taking the keys from the soldiers as they exited the house. He was still doubtful of Tom Neville’s loyalty, but hopefully the new rank would assuage Tom’s displeasure long enough for Bass to determine where his true loyalties resided. Keep one’s enemies close, indeed.

“Sir, may I speak freely?” Tom asked. Bass raised his arm in acquiescence. “I still think it would be safer to keep Miles in the prison.”

“No.”

“May I ask why you insist on keeping him here, sir?”

“Why did you beat him everyday?”

“You know why, he threatened my family.”

“And he has threatened and attacked my Republic. There are things I want to say to him before he is tried for treason tomorrow.”

“Understood. I’m just worried about your safety.”

“There’s no need to be. Dismissed,” Sebastian didn’t wait for a response. He already knew that everyone doubted him when it came to Miles and he was so tired of their derision. He entered his home, hoping he was ready to face his greatest enemy, the man who he could never quite see as the enemy.

The interrogation room was starkly decorated, at its center was a large metal table encircled by metal chairs. The servants had set out a tray with whiskey and glasses on the table in anticipation of President Monroe’s return. Soft light filtered through the barred windows, giving the room an oddly romantic atmosphere. Bass stopped beside the table, unsure of his intentions now that he finally had Miles exactly where he wanted him. Nine months of planning and searching had paid off, but he couldn’t find the joy in the situation, not with Miles’s obvious loathing toward him.

“You converted our library into an interrogation room?” 

“Well, neither of us were much into reading, so…” Bass shrugged.

“This is a nice addition to the house,” Miles said, shaking the chains, “Gives it a nice bondage feel.”

Miles was seated at the table, his ankles chained to the floor, this wrists shackled to a metal hook in the table. It was modeled after the CIA’s interrogation rooms during the Iraq War.

Bass still didn’t know what to say, what to do.

“You like to take your women down here and play out torture fantasies?”

That knocked Bass out of his indecision. He picked up a whiskey glass and threw it at Miles’s head. Miles tucked and it sailed toward the back wall, smashing, the shards cascading onto the hardwood floor. Miles didn’t even flinch. He gazed back at the broken glass for a few seconds before looking up at Bass, a faint smile on his face.

“Still the emotional one, I see,” Miles was being uncharacteristically contemptuous, a clear sign that he was drowning in rage. Sebastian rubbed his hand across his brow. This game was getting old and he was so tired.

“There is someone I want you to meet,” he said before strolling out of the door, up the stairs and into the sitting room.

Andrea was lounging beside the window, a book in her hands. She glanced up as Bass entered.

“If you keep smashing whiskey glasses pretty soon you won’t have any left,” she smiled and rose to greet him, enfolding him in her arms. He returned the hug and sighed.

“It’s good to have you home, Sebastian. I was worried.”

She pulled back and ran her fingers along the yellow, fading bruises that encircled his left eye and cheek.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he replied, “We got him. I want you to meet him.”

Andrea nodded and followed him down the stairs to the interrogation room. A flicker of surprise crossed Miles’s face when she entered, but he quickly pushed it behind a wall of indifference. If Sebastian hadn’t been desperately searching for it, he would have missed it.

“Andrea, this is Miles Matheson,” he said, extending his arm toward the captive as Andrea approached him cautiously. Bass stayed near the door, “Miles, this is Andrea…my girlfriend.”

“Charmed,” Miles responded apathetically.

“It’s nice to meet you too.”

“Andrea,” Bass said, never taking his gaze from Miles, “Why don’t you tell my captive how long you and I have been together.”

“Well, let’s see,” she said, looking from Miles to Bass, “We will celebrate our three-year anniversary next month.”

Sebastian noticed Miles’s eyes widen slightly, but otherwise he kept his face indifferent. Bass sauntered slowly toward his girlfriend and his lover. He had to bait this trap well if he wanted to capture Miles.

“And when was the last time we had sex?”

Miles narrowed his eyes as a confused expression spread across Andrea’s face. She obviously didn’t want to answer, but she was Sebastian Monroe’s girlfriend so she was well aware of his thoughts on disobedience.

“The night before you left on your mission.”

Andrea might have been the one speaking but Sebastian and Miles couldn’t tear their eyes from one another. This game only had two players.

“No,” Bass said, “I mean tell Miles the truth.”

“The truth?”

“Yes, Andrea,” he repeated, barely containing his annoyance.

“Okay,” Andrea’s voice was laced with doubt, “We’ve never had sex.”

Miles breathed in sharply, emotion filling his eyes. 

“Tell him about our arrangement,” Bass commanded.

Andrea turned back to Miles, “President Monroe provides for me and my family, and in exchange I appear to be his girlfriend. I go to functions with him. I sleep here.”

“So, I guess you were right, Miles, I don’t have to fuck them, as long as I pay them enough and they are trustworthy.”

“Am I supposed to be touched?” Miles muttered, “I couldn’t care less who you fuck.”

Sebastian didn’t take the bait, “Thank you, Andrea. You’re dismissed, maybe spend the night at Kylie’s.”

“Sebastian, I don’t think—” she said.

“Now,” he demanded, turning his hard gaze to her. She might disagree or doubt Bass’s choices, but she wasn’t his girlfriend. She was an employee and she could be punished for insubordination as easily as any other employee.

She stared at him for a few moments, weighing her options, presumably realizing that she had none. She nodded and left, shutting the door behind her. Miles grew still, like a trapped animal.

“What are you doing?” Miles asked, “I mean, what the hell is this, Bass, what do you want?”

How many times had Bass dreamed of this moment, dreamed of torturing Miles, imagined how Miles would whimper? How many nights had he spent jerking off to these fantasies of Miles broken and begging Bass to take him back? Regardless of how each fantasy started that was how they all ended, because that was what he wanted, Miles back in his bed and back at his side as General of the militia. It was the only thing he had ever wanted during the past four years. But even in his darkest moments, he knew that torture would never drive Miles to take him back. Miles would die first. He had always been the strong one, and Bass the weak one.

Tom and Jeremy would arrive the following morning with the official accusation of treason. He had one night to turn Miles around, to convince him to come back to the Republic, and absolutely no idea how to do it. If Colburn had just succeeded in capturing Charlie—no, dwelling on that wouldn’t help. Bass didn’t have Charlie. He didn’t have anyone that Miles cared about…except himself. He knew that Miles loved him after his confession in the armory, but did Miles love him enough? There was only one way to know for sure.

He pulled his gun out of its holster, checked the magazine and set it on the table.

“I want you to know, Miles, that there are twenty soldiers stationed around this building, an eye on every single window and door, with explicit instructions to kill you on sight if you try to escape.”

Miles merely raised his eyebrow and remained silent. Sebastian pulled the keys from his pocket and stepped toward Miles. His former lover hadn’t had a decent shower in days and he smelled musty and dirty like the road. It made the blood rush to Bass’s cock. He unlocked the cuffs around Miles’s legs first, then his hands. Miles paused for one second, rubbing his wrists where the cuffs had been chafing them. Sebastian pursed his lips and gave Miles an innocent look, only to be rewarded with a punch to the face. He staggered backward, but Miles was on him before he could react, a quick left jab to the gut, an elbow to the cheek. Sebastian reeled back and prepared to fight, only to find a gun in his face. He’d forgotten how quickly Miles could move, even when injured.

“What are you playing at? Sticking a loaded gun in front of me and then letting me go?”

Bass simply stared into the barrel of the gun, trying to catch his breath.

“Are those soldiers ordered to shoot me if I have the President as a hostage?”

“Yes.”

“And you think they’ll actually go through with that command?”

“I imagine that some of them would love to shoot me. If you hadn’t noticed, things are not going too well around here since you abandoned me.”

Miles cocked the gun and pushed the barrel against Bass’s forehead. Sebastian closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Possibly not his best plan, but he hadn’t had any other options. He opened his eyes and gazed calmly at Miles, who was shaking.

“Was that song and dance with your girlfriend supposed to pacify me?”

“Miles, you seem to have forgotten who you are talking to,” Bass exclaimed calmly, “You might always have an ulterior motive, but I don’t. You were still ranting about the women, so I figured you deserved to know the truth.”

“Which is?”

“Unlike you, I haven’t been with anyone since you left.”

“Bullshit,” Miles hissed, clanking the gun lightly against Bass’s head, “Kneel down.”

For the first time, Sebastian felt fear creeping into his body. He knew how callous Miles could be. He had seen him execute dozens of prisoners without a second thought. He knelt down and gazed up at Miles. He was ready to die if it was his time, but he wished that his last image before oblivion could have been Miles’s smiling face rather than this hard rage.

“This is the third time you’ve pointed a gun at my head. You do realize that if you fail to pull the trigger this time, I’ll never believe that you can. This is your last chance to use this tactic against me.”

“You sound like you want me to shoot you,” Miles had grown completely still, no longer shaking, emotionless. That was how he always got right before he killed people. Sebastian felt his heart fracture as he realized that his plan had failed. Miles didn’t love him enough. He was about to die. After that first insurgent ambush in Iraq, when Sebastian had been shamefully afraid, he promised himself that when death finally came he would greet it bravely. Now was the moment, and he planned to fulfill that promise. After all, he would have been dead a dozen times already had it not been for Miles. His life belonged to Miles so it seemed right that he should be the one to end it. 

“I’m already dead,” Bass whispered, “So, if my execution is where this has always been headed, then just do it. Just fucking shoot me because I don’t care anymore.”

“And what about your Republic? Your citizens?”

“It’s _our_ Republic, Miles. It always has been. Take it. You can fight the border war with Georgia. You can find a way to turn the power back on. You left me with this mess and you can have it back.”

“Fuck you!” Miles was yelling, the gun shaking once again in his hand. Bass felt a wave of relief flow through him. Miles didn’t commit murder emotionally; he always killed with absolute composure.

“I love you,” Bass said, tears forming in his eyes, “I just want you to know that.”

“Damn it,” Miles gasped, tears coming to his eyes as well.

“It’s okay, Miles. I forgive you,” Bass said, closing his eyes, counting inside his head. _1…2…3…4._ The shot never came. He looked up to find Miles crying, the gun resting limply at his side. Bass breathed out for the first time since Miles had grabbed the gun. He felt nauseated all of a sudden, and he sat down onto the floor with a sigh. Miles slid to his knees beside him, face in his hands. They sat in silence. Bass was too overwhelmed to even move, finally knowing with complete confidence that Miles wouldn’t kill him.

Finally knowing that even Miles wasn’t immune to his own rules, that a good hostage works every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dislike original characters in fanfiction, but in my defense "Andrea" is supposed to be that woman who was in bed with Bass during the last episode. When I saw her, I thought, "Who is that, his beard?" So that is what I made her.


	3. The Harsh Light of Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.
> 
> I couldn't find Jeremy's rank online, but I think he is a Captain. Please correct me if I'm wrong.

_In which Sebastian sees the flaw_

“How is your foot?” it wasn’t what Bass wanted to say, but after putting all of his emotions on display and offering to let Miles kill him, he couldn’t handle anything of magnitude.

Miles finally looked at him, completely exhausted, still sitting in a heap on the floor with the gun in his right hand.

“Well, someone shot an arrow into it,” he said deadpan.

That was the real Miles. God, he had missed him. “I mean do you need me to call in the doctor? Is it infected?”

Miles shook his head, his gaze had become intense, “No, I don’t think so. I knew what you were doing, Bass, but there was a second when I thought I could shoot you.”

Bass laughed, mostly from the relief that comes with the calm after the storm. “I know, I thought you were going to pull the trigger during that second, too.”

“All of those days on the road, and this was the best plan you could come up with, letting me hold a gun to your head?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Touché,” Miles said with a faint smile.

They were still sitting on the floor, side-by-side but not touching.

“Well,” Bass murmured, pushing himself to his feet. His body felt heavy and slow. He offered Miles his hand and pulled him up. Miles’s hand in his, rough and calloused, made his whole body tingle, but he was too emotionally drained to follow that feeling. He dropped Miles’s hand unceremoniously and went for the whiskey bottle on the table. Luckily the servants had brought four glasses, so there were still three left. Miles limped over and leaned against the table next to Bass, studying him with intensity. 

Bass poured a double for each of them, shoving the glass in Miles’s direction without looking at him. He felt awkward and terrified like a scared teenager. Miles downed the liquor in one gulp, setting the empty glass on the table. He brought his left hand up to Bass’s cheek, caressing it lightly. Bass stopped breathing. Four long years of celibacy and he felt like he might burst from this one tiny touch. He looked up to find Miles gazing straight into his eyes.

“Bass, can I ask you a question and get an honest answer?”

He nodded.

“Is Charlie dead?”

Of course, it was Charlie, precious fucking Charlie, the only thing that Miles cared about anymore. Bass had just put his fucking life, his fucking heart, on the line, and all Miles cared about was Charlie. He wanted to yell at him again but he was so tired, so he just glared into his whiskey glass.

“I’m not allowed to care about any besides you, Bass? Don’t be an asshole.”

“I don’t know,” he muttered. It was certainly the truth, even though Bass could have been more forthcoming.

“Bass,” Miles reprimanded, like he was an insolent child. But it worked.

“I put a capture alive order on Rachel, Charlie, and… Danny. I know what you think of me, but I’ve never been out to kill your family.”

“I didn’t think you were,” Miles said, cupping Bass’s neck, “But war is messy.”

Bass leaned his head into Miles’s hand. He was so tired of fighting so he opted for the truth, “All reports indicate that they escaped.”

Miles smiled and rested his forehead on Bass’s. Miles smelled like sweat and dirt and evergreens. It reminded Bass of their many nights on the road, stealing kisses behind trees. It sent a shiver down his spine.

“Thank you,” Miles whispered.

He ran his thumb across Bass’s lips, making him close his eyes with a sigh. It had been too long, but his body responded to Miles’s fingertips like no time had passed.

“You really haven’t been with anyone for four years?” Miles whispered.

Bass just nodded, he didn’t think that his voice would work right now.

“Why not?”

“I,” he was right; his voice didn’t work. He swallowed and tried again, “It wasn’t like I decided to stop for four years. It just kind of happened.”

“But, why did you stop in the first place?”

“ _You._ ” He could be so annoyingly dense sometimes, “I thought you’d come back after a few weeks, at most a few months. I wanted to be able to show you that it was only you.”

“And Andrea?”

“Well, you didn’t come back, did you?” Bass said, his voice thick with resentment, “I knew everyone was thinking that I couldn’t function without you. I already knew her; her brother is in the militia. I invited her back here after a party one night. I kept thinking, I have to make a move, but instead we drank more whiskey. Somehow, we got talking about you and she asked if there had been something between us. I was so drunk and so tired and I said ‘yes.’” he paused, “It was such a relief, to actually say it aloud.”

“I’m sorry.”

Bass stepped back, shaking his head, “Don’t, please.”

Miles pulled him back and tucked a finger under his chin, “Look at me.”

Sebastian did as he was told. When it came to Miles, he was nothing if not obedient. Miles leaned in slowly, never taking his eyes from Bass and lightly caressed Bass’s lips with his. Bass stopped breathing. The entire universe had collapsed and disappeared, except for Miles’s body where it seared his flesh. The kiss was light and reverent. It was like their first kiss, filled with uncertainty. It wasn’t enough.

He grasped the back of Miles’s head and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss and eliciting a moan from Miles. Their tongues fought for dominance and Miles won. He always won. Bass grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his head back. They were both panting. Miles’s eyes had gone cloudy with lust.

“Don’t you fucking start something you aren’t willing to finish,” Bass gasped.

Miles smiled, seized Bass by the shoulders and spun him 180 degrees in response, pinning him to the table with his body. Bass was already rock hard, bursting to be free, but when Miles ground his own erection against him, he thought he was going to come immediately, embarrassingly premature. It had been too long and he felt like a virginal teenager. He had to calm down, but it was too difficult when the only man he had ever loved was sucking a hot trailer of kisses down his neck. Miles pulled furiously at Bass’s military jacket. 

“You’ve always looked amazing in this, but why the hell does it have to have so many buttons?”

Sebastian chuckled as Miles struggled with the last few, pushing the dark blue shirt off. He paused, lightly brushing his fingertips across Bass’s chest and stomach, mesmerized.

Bass pulled Miles’s shirt over his head, exposing the macabre mosaic of purple, pink and yellow bruises across his entire torso. It was like a storybook of the beatings Miles had endured during the two-week journey to Philadelphia. He touched them lightly, in absolution, hoping that Miles would understand, finally making his way to the tattoo on Miles’s left pectoral muscle, an M in a circle with MATHESON written underneath. He leaned down and traced the circle around the M with his tongue. Miles shivered. It always reminded Bass of the night, seven years ago, when Miles had asked for the Monroe Republic brand as they were lying in bed.

_“That is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. I’m not going to brand you like cattle.”_

_“Or like the soldiers?” Miles had asked. Bass had rewarded him with a scathing look._

_“You know why we have to do that, a test of loyalty, an initiation. But I’m not doubtful of your loyalty.”_

_“Bass, I’d prefer a tattoo if that were possible, but since it isn’t—”_

_“It is possible. You’d have to use the traditional method which I hear is more painful, but haven’t your seen Johnson’s tattoo? He got it last year.”_

_Miles regarded him with confusion, “Do you know where he got it?”_

_“Ask him,” Bass had replied, convinced that Miles would never do it. Miles wasn’t into commitment of any kind. Bass had rolled over and fallen asleep. He’d occasionally wondered about it, but Miles hadn’t mentioned it again and after a few weeks Bass had forgotten._

_Months later, on Bass’s birthday, after everyone had left the party, Miles had sat him down in a chair and muttered, “I have something I want to show you” as he’d started to strip._

_Bass had thought that Miles was just being silly, that he wanted to show him his cock, like he hadn’t already seen that a thousand times. He’d actually felt his heart clench inside his chest, as cheesy as that sounded, when he’d seen Miles’s tattoo._

Bass kicked off his boots, desperate to be free of his oppressive uniform. A frantic need washed over them as Miles unlatched Bass’s belt and pulled down his pants and boxers in one fluid motion. The past four years alone would have driven them to desperation, but the standoff had amplified everything.

Miles wrapped his hand around Bass’s cock, eliciting a groan in response.

“Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” Miles whispered into his ear before sucking a bruise into Bass’s neck.

Bass didn’t answer. He couldn’t form words. He couldn’t form thoughts. 

“I wondered how you were, wondered if you’d ever stop hating me.”

Bass brushed his hand through Miles’s hair, and said, “Miles, I never hated you.”

“Don’t lie. You hated me and you had every right to.”

Miles was veering dangerously close to a topic that Bass had absolutely no desire to dredge up right now. They probably needed to talk about it, someday, the thing that had destroyed them. They both knew what it was, knew the exact moment when their relationship had broken. They had been dancing around it ever since that initial confrontation in the armory, each too scared to actually broach the subject. But now was definitely not the time to open old wounds.

“Stop talking, please,” Bass murmured without malice, pressing his lips to Miles’s. He glided his tongue along the seam of Miles’s lips, a tentative question. Miles responded by nipping lightly on his lips and sliding his tongue into his mouth. 

He pushed Sebastian onto the cold metal table, kissing a path from Bass’s mouth, down his throat to his chest, sucking and blowing on his nipples. Bass gasped, his head falling back onto the table as Miles continued his journey down Bass’s body. He planted light kisses along his sculpted stomach, finally grasping his cock and stroking it lazily. Sebastian had forgotten how it felt to have the touch of another. Four years with only his own hands to stroke and caress. He had fooled himself into thinking that it was enough, but Miles had destroyed that lie in a matter of seconds.

“Did you used to think about me when you touched yourself?”

Bass tried to gather his scattered thoughts. He’d actually forgotten how much Miles loved dirty talk, and he was alarmingly out of practice. He decided to do his best, “I’d imagine riding you, feeling your cock stretching me.”

Miles rewarded him by slowly licking a trail down the vein in his cock, circling the head with his tongue, taunting Bass but never wrapping his lips completely around it.

“And?”

“And…” It was becoming difficult to focus, “You couldn’t stand to let me be in control. I’d wind up on my back…and I’d beg you to fuck me harder.”

Miles sucked Bass’s cock into his mouth, rolling his tongue along the pliable edge of the head. Bass felt his entire body quake with need. He hit the back of Miles’s throat and his self-control dissolved.

“Christ,” he muttered, sitting up, grabbing Miles’s head and passionately fucking his mouth. Miles gagged and spluttered, but Bass knew that it was no reason to stop. The first time he’d taken control like this and pushed Miles to the limit, he’d immediately felt remorse, pulling out and apologizing profusely. Miles had coughed and gasped a few times and then looked up at Bass with such desire that he had almost come just from seeing that expression. “More” was all Miles had said in response, a request that Bass had fulfilled countless time. He lost himself in the feel of that wet heat, chanting Miles’s name through the haze of need. After a few minutes, he let up, pulling Miles’s mouth off with a wet pop.

“Glad to see you’re still a little slut,” Bass murmured, as Miles tried to catch his breath, smirking up at him as spit ran down his chin. Bass had dreamed of seeing that expression on Miles’s face for so long.

“’Slut’? Do you really want to start that?”

Miles stood, wiping his mouth and giving Bass such an intensely predatory look that Bass physically recoiled. Without warning Miles punched him in the left cheek, capturing his hands and pulling them behind Bass’s back before he could retaliate. Miles’s chest was pushed flush against his, heat radiating off his bruised body.

“That was for the foot,” Miles whispered, dragging his lips along the cheek he’d just smacked.

“Are you going to hit me for every beating?” Bass asked, not sure if he wanted him to or not.

“God no. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t even think straight. And since I’m feeling generous, which you certainly don’t deserve…” Miles let him go and hobbled toward the door. 

“Miles?”

“Stay.”

Bass leaned back onto the table like a well-trained dog. Miles returned a few moments later to find Bass looking sullen.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he exclaimed, setting a bowl, with a cloth napkin draped over it, onto the table.

Bass furrowed his brow in confusion lifting off the napkin. He chuckled.

“Butter?”

“Consider it a kindness. I could just bend you over right now, no preparation. You’d certainly have it coming, so don’t fucking tempt me,” Miles murmured, pulling Bass’s head back and shoving his tongue into his mouth, claiming him. Bass felt his knees go weak.

Bass sat on the edge of the table as Miles pulled his pants off. His shoes had already been removed when the soldiers had chained him to the floor.

Bass couldn’t take his eyes off of Miles’s hard cock as he stepped between Bass’s legs.

“Like what you see?” Miles asked, smirking and full of himself.

“Don’t be a fucking idiot.”

Miles grabbed his chin, forcing his head up, “Just answer the damn question.”

Bass nodded. He couldn’t breathe from the desire. Only Miles could treat him like this and make him desperate for more.

“Touch me,” Miles demanded.

Bass immediately wrapped one hand around Miles’s cock and stroked him, murmuring loving words in his ear, telling him how much he wanted him, reassuring him that it had only ever been him. That shut Miles up. It always did. 

Miles was breathing hard and trembling when he finally pushed Bass away and grabbed the butter, “I want to watch you.”

Bass greatly preferred when Miles’s fingers slid into him, but he knew how much Miles loved to watch, so he’d give him this gift. Next time, he’d make Miles do it. He spread the warm butter over his fingers, licking it off as Miles let out a quiet moan. Bass smiled, relishing the power he had over him, and coated his fingers a second time before inserting his middle finger into his tight hole. He had done this hundreds of times during the past four years, always imagining Miles in front of him, eyes burning with desire. The fantasy was nothing compared to the reality.

He pushed a second finger in, closing his eyes and moaning as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out. He could hear Miles panting and it spurred him on, as he pushed in the third finger. It burned slightly just as it always did. He probably should have taken more time, but he was desperate to have Miles inside of him. He grabbed more butter and fucked himself through the pain until there was only pleasure and need. He looked up to find Miles’s eyes lidded and glassy, his hand wrapped around his own cock. Bass smiled.

“Please, Miles.”

Miles didn’t hesitate. He stepped between Bass’s legs and plunged in. It burned with a mixture of pain and pleasure, making Bass cry out as he fell back onto the table. He was so full, much more full than his pathetic fingers could ever have accomplished. Miles pulled all of the way out and pushed in again. It was torture, exquisite torture, and Sebastian hoped that it would never end. He grasped Miles’s hips, spurring him forward, causing Miles to bury himself even further. 

“Harder,” he ordered and Miles obeyed, pounding him mercilessly, grabbing a fistful of Bass’s hair and yanking his head back to expose his neck. He sucked hickeys into Bass’s chest, methodically, like he was marking him as property. Bass refused to be the only one marked. He bit Miles’s shoulder, causing Miles to cry out and bury himself to the hilt. Without warning, Bass was livid with Miles for leaving, for denying him this pleasure for years. He raked his fingernails along Miles’s back, tearing at any piece of Miles’s body he could, biting another mark into his chest. Miles responded by pounding him with such fury that Bass knew he would regret this tomorrow when the pain set in. But for now, in this moment, that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the razor’s edge between pain and pleasure.

“Touch me,” Bass begged.

After four years of self-imposed abstinence, he knew that he couldn’t last long. He was close, so close. All he needed were a few strokes from Miles’s hand.

“Fuck, Miles,” Bass cried out, coming across his stomach. He felt himself clench around Miles’s cock, causing him to follow Bass over the edge, shaking and moaning.

Eventually he slowed, still buried in Bass. He collapsed onto his lover’s chest, planting gentle kisses into the hollow of Bass’s neck.

“I love you,” Miles whispered. 

Bass knew he should reply in kind, but he’d already said it so many times, even when Miles had repeatedly held a gun to his head. Besides, it had never been his love for Miles that had been in question. So he chose to withhold the words, just this once, because it felt like a small victory to see Miles’s feelings laid bare rather than his own.

He smiled and pulled Miles into a slow, deep kiss.

**********************************

Miles and Sebastian had fallen into bed early that night after a dinner of bread, cheese and whiskey. It had been an exhausting two-week journey, followed by an even more exhausting evening. Sebastian had fallen to sleep almost immediately, Miles wrapped in his arms.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he had awakened to Miles’s feather kisses along his ear, his jaw, his cheek. Wordlessly Bass had turned to him and they made love slowly and lovingly, in all of the ways they couldn’t make love the night before because the anger of the past four years had still been too intense to be denied.

Bass woke again in the morning as yellow light filtered through the curtains. He rolled over to find the bed empty.

He sat up, “Miles. Miles!”

The door creaked and his lover walked in, dressed in boxers and eating an apple. His other hand was behind his back. Guilt washed over Bass again to see the patchwork of bruises on Miles’s torso.

“Sorry, I was hungry and I wanted to see what time it was.”

Bass fell back onto the bed, “What time is it?”

“Eight fifteen. Do your officers still come over at nine?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian replied, realizing that he’d better come up with a damn good speech explaining why Miles was back, and he’d better do it quickly. “Did you bring me an apple?”

Miles grinned, producing a second apple from behind his back and throwing it to him. 

“Come here,” Bass said, reaching out his hand. Miles leaned over and lightly kissed him, their lips moving together like a slow dance.

Miles moaned and pulled back to gaze at him, “Let’s run away.”

“Where to?” Bass asked, sliding his hand along the side of Miles’s jaw and gently caressing his cheek.

“I hear that Hawaii is nice this time of year. We could hop on a plane, be there in 12 hours.”

“I’m in,” Bass pulled him back down for a thorough kiss.

“If only, right?” Miles said, the smile fading as reality set in, “We could run away though. Maybe not as far as Hawaii, but we could leave this all behind. Would you do that with me?”

Bass drew back. Miles looked serious. “What are you talking about?”

“Leave with me,” Miles said, quiet and intense.

“Where to? And don’t say Hawaii.”

“I know where the rebels will head. We’ll go there.”

Sebastian looked at him like he’d grown another head, “You’ve gone crazy.”

“No, Bass,” Miles said, pulling away and sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, “Listen to me. I laid awake almost all night thinking about this. For hours I couldn’t see any other options except my execution, not any plausible ones at least. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that we could probably escape together.”

“Miles, please stop talking like this,” Bass said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. Miles was acting crazy and emotional, which had always been Sebastian’s role in the relationship. Miles was the taciturn one who always kept his feelings locked in a safe that not even Bass knew the combination to. Miles was the one who countered Bass’s crazy ideas with logic. 

He wanted to run away to the rebels? But Miles was supposed to come back to the Republic. A sinking feeling began to flow from Bass’s heart into his gut.

“I laid here thinking about all of the decisions I’ve made and whether I should have made different ones.”

“Like what?” Still Bass didn’t want to say much. He could sense how tenuous their truce was. He was too afraid he’d say the wrong thing, the thing that would drive Miles away forever, but he had absolutely no idea what that thing might be. If he started talking he might accidently stumble into it.

“I thought about the things I said in that hallway in the R&D facility. I’m sorry about those things. They were horrible, I didn’t mean them.”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” Miles exclaimed, shaking his head, “It wasn’t okay because it wasn’t true. That entire journey I was so convinced that when I got to Philly you were going to try to kill me. I wasn’t prepared for what you actually did. I pushed you away with the worst words I could think of because if I hadn’t, I think I would have said ‘yes.’”

“You would have come back?” Bass felt hope rising inside of him. 

“I almost did.”

Bass was still afraid to speak, afraid to break this bubble of truth that they were sitting in after years of lies and manipulation, but it was the perfect opening for what he wanted to say, “You can come back now.”

He realized that he had said the wrong thing immediately. Miles breathed out and shook his head.

“I’m pretty sure that you’d have a coup on your hands if you reinstated me, but that doesn’t even matter because, Bass,” he ran his hand along Bass’s bare stomach, “I don’t want to come back to the Republic, ever.”

“But,” he felt like he couldn’t breathe, “but, you just said that you love me, and last night we…”

Miles sighed in frustration, “I was worried that you might get the wrong idea about last night. You might think that I was rejoining the Republic. Sebastian,” he grabbed Bass’s arms a little too tightly, “I knew the decision that I faced when I was holding that gun, probably better than you did. I knew that both of us weren’t going to make it out of this alive.”

“Miles, what are you—“

“Sebastian, please just let me talk. I knew that I could shoot you and try to escape and probably die in the attempt. Or I could not shoot you and doom myself to the firing squad. I knew the decision was between letting you live or taking you with me into death.”

“Why would say that? You’re not making sense.”

“Jesus, Sebastian,” Miles rubbed his hands along his forehead in frustration, “I’m a traitor and an enemy to the Monroe Republic. I wrote the goddamned laws of this country, I know that execution is the punishment for my crimes.”

“Not if you come back as the Commanding General of the Militia. I can give you a presidential pardon.”

Miles stood up and started pacing, “Bass, listen to me. Please, _really_ listen. I am done with the Republic. I will never serve the Republic…ever…again.”

“You’d rather die than be with me? Is that what you are saying?” Sebastian felt like the world was spinning out of control. How much did Miles hate him? He’d broken Bass’s heart so many times, but it hadn’t been enough? He’d needed to break him completely by giving him one final night of love and then taking it all away?

“No,” Miles came to him, sitting on the bed once again and taking his hand, “God no. I’m saying that last night I realized my mistake. I never let you have a choice.”

Miles paused as if he expected Bass to say something, but he was still so confused, so wrapped up in his emotions. After a few moments, Miles sighed and continued.

“What I’m trying to say is that I fucked up when you asked me to come back and I said all of those horrible things. You aren’t nothing to me. You’re my family, you always have been, you always will be. Do you hear me?”

Bass nodded numbly. How long had he wished to hear those words, but the way Miles was saying them was wrong, the tone and the intensity were all wrong. He still sounded wired and manic and irrationally crazy.

“I should have asked you to come with me when I saw you again in that hallway. I’m sorry I didn’t. But I’m asking you now.”

“Come with you to join the rebels?” Bass couldn’t even believe he was saying these words. They sounded too ridiculous to be true. How could Miles think this was a good idea?

“Yes. We can rebuild the USA, tear apart this horrible thing we created.”

Bass pushed Miles’s hand away and got out of bed. He pulled on a pair of boxers followed by his trousers. Miles was watching him closely, hope still lighting his eyes. He meant it. He fucking meant it.

“What have those women done to you? Charlie? Nora? You used to be so rational and now? You are being completely delusional,” Bass said.

“What is delusional about this? You love me. I love you.”

“What is delusional about this?” he cried, incredulous, “How many of your people have I killed? Who is the number one enemy to your pathetic rebellion?”

“The Monroe Republic is the enemy, Bass, not you. I mean look at me, they accepted me as their leader.”

“Fine, I’ll restate the question. How many rebels have _you_ killed lately?”

Miles just rolled his eyes.

“How are you going to explain this to your precious Charlie? ‘Oh, I’m sorry I’ve returned with the man who killed your father and your brother, but he’s my boyfriend so hopefully you can get over it.’”

“It wouldn’t be like that.”

“You’re right. I forgot. You would _never_ call me your boyfriend. People might learn that you like to fuck men and then what would happen to your reputation?”

“I’m not going to have this fight with you again, especially not now,” Miles said calmly, “I had very good reasons for not wanting to go public back then, but you wouldn’t listen. You never cared what I wanted. Please, can we not fight about this? I’m asking you to come with me and make a new start.”

“So, let me get this straight,” Bass felt like he was on a tether that was about to break. They were treading dangerously close to the only topic that could destroy Bass completely, “You want me to give up the Republic, just hand it over to someone like Neville, so that I can go live as your secret boyfriend with a bunch of people who detest me?”

Miles raised his eyebrows, and started to speak, but Bass cut him off.

“And while we are at it, what is so wrong with the Republic?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Miles, it’s like you’ve forgotten what it was like after the blackout. The Republic provides order and stability where there was only chaos and death. The Republic is a good thing.”

“This republic is a fascist dictatorship and you know it,” Miles said.

Bass felt like he’d been punched. “Really? So now I’m Hitler?”

“That is not what I meant,” Miles jumped up and approached him, arms spread out as if he wanted to embrace. Bass backed up until he hit the wall. Miles stopped advancing and held his hands out, palms facing Bass as a sign of peace, “This conversation is getting out of hand, just like all of them. I don’t want to fight. That is not what I meant.”

“Be very careful what you say next,” Bass hissed.

“What I mean is I love you. I want you by my side. I _need_ you by my side. You said it yourself, it’s you and me. We help each other out when the other one screws up, right? Well, we screwed up. We made something that hurts people. We didn’t mean to, but we did. We need to destroy it. I’m asking you if you love me more than you love this republic.”

Bass couldn’t process Miles’s words. He was still stuck on ‘boyfriend’ and ‘dictator.’

“I’m asking you to escape with me.”

“How is that any different than what I’m asking you to do?”

“It’s different because this republic is oppressive and it needs to be stopped. You either see that or you don’t. If you don’t, then just say it.”

There was a beat, a moment when Sebastian thought he might agree. He understood what Miles meant, he saw that the Republic killed people when it had to, but it also saved people and provided for people. It did more good than harm. He had dedicated over a decade of his life to the Republic, and if he left, it might fall into the hands of someone who truly was evil.

“The Monroe Republic creates order, stability and hope,” he said, without looking at Miles.

Miles closed his eyes and sat on the bed. It was as if his whole body had lost the ability to function, “Then I’ll lock myself back up in the interrogation room before your officers get here. You have a traitor to sentence.”

“Miles,” Bass advanced on him, suddenly desperate. His entire plan was spiraling out of control and crashing and he couldn’t seem to save it, “If you really think that about the Republic, you can come back, we can change it from the inside, we can—“

“Just stop talking!” Miles stood and walked toward the door. He stopped in the doorway and turned back, “I mean it, Bass. I will never be a part of this republic again. Ever. So you have two choices, the Republic or me. That’s it.”

He walked out of the bedroom. Bass slid to the ground as Miles’s footsteps receded into silence.

****************************

Major Tom Neville, Captain Jeremy Baker and Attorney General Brian Wallace arrived at nine o’clock sharp. Miles listened without emotion as they read the accusations, releasing vital information about the Monroe Republic to known enemies and slaughtering countless soldiers in numerous acts of terrorism. 

“Miles Matheson, do you understand the crimes for which you are being accused?” Tom asked.

“Yes.”

“How do you plea?”

“Guilty.”

Sebastian felt like his world was collapsing. ‘Not guilty’ would have required a trial, would have bought Miles days or weeks.

Tom smiled, gleefully, “Great, then we can take you down to the courthouse, sentence you and have you executed by the end of the week.”

Bass felt like he was underwater, everything muted and slow as they unchained Miles and took him from the house. Only Jeremy stayed behind.

“Sir?”

“What?” it came out more as a breath than a word.

“Are you okay, sir?” Jeremy asked. Bass finally looked up from the chair where Miles had been.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason,” Jeremy said, “Do you want him brought back here after sentencing or to the prison?”

Bass sighed, running his fingers along the table, where they had made love last night, “I don’t want to see him again.”

“Understood,” Jeremy saluted, waiting to be dismissed with a salute in return, but Bass couldn’t seem to make his body move.

“You can go, Jeremy. Thank you.”

Bass sat down in the chair where Miles had been moments before and rested his head on the table. He wanted to cry, to yell, to throw things. He craved an outlet for his anguish, but he felt too numb to move. After a couple hours, he heard Andrea enter. She sat in the other chair, never speaking, never trying to touch him, but it helped to have someone there.

****************************

Miles could occasionally hear the rhythmic marching of soldiers as he lay in his cot in a small stone prison cell, but otherwise there was silence. Bass had set a ten o’clock curfew years ago which apparently still existed, because he never heard a casual conversation, a teenager, anyone besides the militia. He sometimes wondered if he should have tried to escape during the previous night, but he’d finally felt like he was home for the first time in four years, the warmth of Bass’s chest radiating into his back. 

He’d known the minute they reached Philadelphia that he was a dead man, even if Bass didn’t. Lying in his lover’s arm, he’d suspected that Sebastian would ask him to rejoin the Republic once the morning came. But he knew that he could never say yes. He could never abandon Charlie and Rachel again. He’d run out of options. Only death waited for him, so why not spend his last few moments where he belonged, with Bass? Sometime in the early morning as the sun was rising, Miles had formulated his ridiculous plan to convince Bass to run away with him. Maybe he didn’t have to die, maybe he could have everything. Only now could he see how naïve that hope had been.

A clunk against the door pulled him from his thoughts and he was up, ready to fight. He heard a scuffle in the hallway outside his cell, and then the thud of a body hitting the ground. Silence followed, probably only for a few seconds but in his heightened state of awareness it felt like forever. Then he heard the clank of the key entering the lock, the creak of the metal door as it was pushed open.

Miles didn’t know if it was friend or foe. Bass? Tom? He squinted as a silhouette materialized in the doorway. Female. Charlie? He both hoped and dreaded that it was Charlie. He missed her so much, but he’d slapped her placing herself in danger to save him. The woman stepped into the cell, moonlight illuminating her face.

Andrea. Bass’s Andrea. Miles stepped back.

“Miles,” she whispered, “I’m not here to hurt you, so please don’t do anything irrational.”

“Bass sent you?”

“No,” she stepped closer, fully into the cell, “I’m rebellion.”

Miles almost had to sit down from the shock, “What?”

“I can’t let you die, Miles, you’re too important to our cause. Sorry, I tried to send a warning when Sebastian left to capture you, but it obviously didn’t make it in time.”

“I’m supposed to believe that you are rebellion? What kind of trap is this? Who do you work for?”

“I guess you…in a way,” she was visibly agitated, “We have to go. There are others getting your men, the 22 soldiers who were captured with you. We’ll get you out of Philadelphia.”

“You’re rebellion? Prove it.”

“Jesus, Miles, fine. ‘I was a victim of a series of accidents.’”

That was alarmingly fitting, Miles thought.

“But since you’ve been in custody for two weeks, I’ll give you the passphrase from three weeks ago, ‘Stuff your eyes with wonder.’ Ray Bradbury.”

Miles didn’t move. This sounded too suspicious to be true, but that was the rebel passphrase from three weeks ago. Bass’s girlfriend was a spy for the rebellion? But Miles had never heard of her. Who did she report to?

“Miles, we have to move. Is it so hard to believe that I’m rebellion, given that I put my life on hold for three years to date a gay man? You need to head out the back, go west down the alley until you reach the forest. Two of your men will be there with a horse for you. I could only secure one. You can ride with that foot, right?”

Miles nodded without thinking. He still didn’t quite believe her. It had to be a trick.

“I can’t risk going with you. I have to get back home, I can’t blow my cover.”

A figure darkened the doorway, giving them both a start.

“I’d say your cover is blown,” Sebastian said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Passphrases:
> 
> "I was a victim of a series of accidents" is from Kurt Vonnegut's Siren of Titan.
> 
> "Stuff your eyes with wonder" is from Fahrenheit 451.


	4. Two Rings and a Dagger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the last chapter. I have a storyboard for this and I know how it will end, but a few scenes have taken longer than I expected so I’m slightly behind my four-chapter plan. There are one or two chapters left after this one, so I reset the total chapter number to six, just to be safe.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with this.
> 
> Unbeta’ed so all mistakes are mine.

_In which Miles mans up_

_**********************_

_**Flashback: Four months before Miles Matheson left the Monroe Republic** _

_“Happy anniversary,” Miles said, producing a small wrapped box from behind his back._

_“General Matheson, you shouldn’t have.”_

_“Don’t be silly. Five years, that’s a big deal, Bass.”_

_Sebastian tore the wrapping paper to find a large jewelry box inside. He gave Miles a look of disbelief, but Miles just laughed and told him to open it. Inside was a beautiful dagger, gold-plated handle with a shiny blade._

_“You got me a weapon,” Bass chuckled._

_“You like weapons, and I saw it months ago. I’m sorry, is it a stupid gift?”_

_“I love it,” Bass replied, leaning in to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. He felt nervous all of a sudden, but he put on a brave face and pulled the small wrapped box from his pocket. He pushed it into Miles’s hands, “I got you something too.”_

_Miles grinned as he pulled the wrapping paper off and opened the small box. His smile fell when he saw what was inside, “Bass?”_

_Bass leaned in and took Miles’s hands in his, “I am completely in love with you, Miles. I was wondering…well, I want us to be official.”_

_Miles stared at the two shining silver rings in the box and didn’t say anything. Bass started to founder. He’d fucked up._

_“They’re platinum,” his voice sounded weird inside his head, too high like he wasn’t getting enough air, “They’re from before the blackout, but they never belonged to anyone. I’ve been looking every time we raided a new town. It took almost a year to find them.”_

_He was babbling. He had to stop. He pushed his fingers to his lips, forcing himself to stop. Still Miles just stared at the rings._

_“Miles?”_

_“What do you…what do you want me say?”_

_Bass felt like he might throw up, “What do you think I want you to say?”_

_“Bass, what’s wrong with our relationship now? I thought we were doing well.”_

_“Yeah, that’s kind of why I wanted to take it to the next level,” Bass could hardly think through the ringing in his skull. He couldn’t believe that he was actually forming coherent sentences._

_“Sebastian,” Miles grasped his arm a little too firmly, “I love you. You know that, I know that, but if I wear this ring, everyone will know.”_

_“That’s kind of the point,” Bass’s voice had gone low and dangerous._

_“I don’t want them to know. We’ve talked about this. A lot. It will hurt our authority. It will hurt everything we’ve built.”_

_Bass grabbed the box out of Miles’s hands and threw it at the wall._

_“You fucking asshole!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him as he left the room._

_Bass hadn’t come back that night. He had headed to Jeremy’s and they’d imbibed so much whiskey that Bass couldn’t remember most of the evening._

_When he’d finally stumbled back home in the early afternoon of the following day, battling a pounding headache, Miles had been a ball of quiet worry. The ensuing fight was still a blur to Sebastian. It had lasted well into the night. He’d started it, of course, since Miles was the unemotional asshole who was in the wrong. But arguments are living entities, and somehow in the course of the battle, Miles became the angry self-righteous one and Bass the crying ball of apologies._

_The fight had ended when Miles angrily told Bass that he should just start dating women as a cover, that the President of the Monroe Republic needed to appear straight, that the men already suspected their relationship and that he didn’t like people talking about him behind his back. It felt like Miles had slid that dagger straight into his gut._

_Bass decided right then that he wouldn’t just date them, he would fuck them. He would fuck as many women as he could get his hands on. He’d fuck them two, three at a time, and he’d make sure that Miles knew about every single one. He’d hurt Miles just like Miles had hurt him. Finally, that night with Amy, Bass had gotten exactly what he wanted. He’d heard Miles enter the house. He knew that Miles was listening to them, so he said all of the things he’d only ever said to Miles._

_“It is only you. You are so beautiful. I love you.”_

_He’d never regretted anything more in his entire life._

**************************

Sebastian was an ominous silhouette against the torch-lit hallway, a sword in his right hand. Miles pushed Andrea behind him instinctively.

“You lying bitch!” Bass spat. It felt odd to be in the same room as Bass and not be the object of his obsessed rage.

“Sebastian—“

“Shut up, Miles,” he advanced toward them and Miles pushed Andrea to the wall behind him, keeping himself between Bass and his girlfriend. He wasn’t afraid of Bass personally, but he knew that Bass would happily slice Andrea open if given the opportunity.

“Sebastian—“

“I said shut the fuck up!” Bass’s eyes finally focused on Miles. They were dark slits, “Five years ago, you would have gladly killed this bitch for me and now you throw your body in front of hers?”

Bass was right. There was no reason to deny it, so Miles had to try a different tactic.

“Remember that woman in Iraq?”

Bass’s whole demeanor changed. His eyes widened and he pulled his shoulders back. He looked ready to flee, but too shocked to move. This was not a story that either of them ever mentioned.

“Remember how you saw a white handkerchief in her hand? You saw it before anyone else, but you couldn’t get our C.O. on the two-way?”

Bass just stared at Miles, seemingly oblivious to Andrea. He was breathing hard.

“You tried to jump out from behind our Humvee. You wanted to run out to her and I pulled you back. I thought she was a suicide bomber, so I pulled you back. And the sergeant shot her. It was my fault.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it was. She’s dead. None of it matters,” Sebastian whispered.

“It mattered. This matters. That person, the one who tries to save people, is who you’ve always been and I’ve always held you back. Don’t do this.”

“Don’t kill the bitch who lied to me for three years, who has sold God knows how many secrets to the enemy?”

“I’m the enemy, Bass, remember? For at least the past nine months, she has been selling secrets to me.”

That stopped him cold. He forgot entirely about Andrea and stared at Miles, his mouth slightly open, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Murdering people isn’t the answer,” Miles continued, “You were right, on the road when we saved Jeremy. It wasn’t the answer.”

“But it was, Miles. I fought you for so long about that, but I see now that you were right. If you don’t kill them, they’ll kill you.”

“Aren’t you tired of living like that?”

“Of course,” Bass was shaking, but from rage or fear Miles couldn’t tell, “But it doesn’t change that that is how the world works.”

Andrea stepped out from behind Miles and toward Bass. Miles grabbed her arm, but she shook him off, “I’ll get him out, Sebastian. He’s injured. He’ll need help and you know I’m good with a gun and a sword. I promise, I’ll get him out. You can hunt me down afterward if you still want to.”

Miles realized that he maybe should have let Andrea handle this from the beginning, because Bass calmed and his breathing leveled. He was considering her offer. Andrea had lived with him for three years; maybe she understood him in her own way.

Sebastian stepped aside so that he was no longer barring the door and gestured for her to leave.

“Wait,” Miles said, trying to grab her, certain that it was a trap, but she slipped away and walked toward Bass. He raised his sword in front of her, barely missing her as she reached the doorway. She looked at him with defiance. He grabbed her chin, leaning down until he was only inches from her face.

“This whole time?”

“I was prepared to become your real girlfriend, but it turned out I didn’t have to.”

“Careful. I’d still love to gut you.”

She recoiled, but managed to keep her voice steady, “I slept beside you for three years. I could have easily killed you, but I didn’t. All I ask is that you do the same for me.”

“That’s a good point. Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Your death wouldn’t mean the end of the Republic.”

Bass raised his eyebrow and looked at her with complete disdain. Miles was convinced he’d kill her for that comment. Bass’s fingers twitched around the handle of the sword, “If he dies, you better pray that you die with him, because if you don’t, I’ll head over to Joliet. I’ll tie your parents to their bed and light their house on fire. How long do you think it will take each of them to burn to death?”

Miles simply stared at Bass. He meant it, just like Miles would have five years ago.

“I understand,” she said, stepping through the door and walking down the hallway unscathed. Once she was gone, they stood silently for a few moments.

“Bass—“

“Don’t. You were wrong, Miles. There was a third choice. You could escape without me.”

“No,” Miles walked toward him as if compelled and grabbed him by the shoulders, “Two choices. The Republic or me.”

“You should leave before I change my mind.”

“Bass,” Miles knew that he was pleading, “It’s you and me.”

Sebastian pulled his face forward and kissed him, passionate and heated. He kissed like a dying man. Miles pushed him against the door frame and tried to convince Bass to leave with him. He tried to show him that he needed him, that he was the only man Miles would ever love. He tried to say all of this with one simple kiss, knowing that he never could. Finally, Sebastian pushed him away gently, even though Miles refused to break contact.

“You have to go, Miles,” Bass whispered. He pulled his gun out of its holster and an extra magazine from his pocket and held them out for him, “You might need these. Take them.”

Miles grabbed them without thinking.

“I can’t watch you die, but I won’t leave the Republic.”

“No,” Miles said again, even as Bass pushed him down the hallway and Miles’s feet began to carry him without his consent. His body knew that he had to escape, that time was running out, even though his brain refused to accept it. He turned and forced himself to take a step and then another. 

“Can I ask you one thing, something I’ve always wanted to ask?” Bass’s voice stopped him.

“Of course, anything,” Miles turned back, searching for any reason to stay.

“When I gave you that ring,” Bass asked, “did you not want to wear it because of what everyone would think or did you simply not want to wear it?”

Miles was transported back to that night, four and a half years ago, holding that little box in his hands. Sebastian was asking him to marry him. He hadn’t said the words, but what else could it mean? Two matching platinum rings, like chains binding them together for everyone to see. Miles had wanted to vomit, but he’d tried to remain calm and rational for Bass. His lover had not afforded him the same courtesy. Bass had gotten emotional and thrown a fit, just like he always did. 

Miles pulled himself out of his thoughts, tried to remember that Bass had asked him something, something important. Why did he not want to wear the ring?

He didn’t think that his personal life was anyone’s business, even though he knew that people whispered about them all of the time. After all, they lived in the same house, even though it was a huge house and they kept the illusion of two separate bedrooms.

He wasn’t the commitment type.

He looked up to see Bass’s face falling into wretchedness, his lip quivering as he tried to hold back his emotions. He had always been jealous of Bass for how easily he expressed and understood his own feelings.

“Bass, I…” Miles muttered. He’d never been good at this.

Sebastian smiled half-heartedly as he started to retreat down the hallway in the opposite direction, “Never mind. I understand.”

“Sebastian…” but still Miles couldn’t find a way to express his feelings. His lips stuttered on the words and stopped.

“No, I get it, Miles,” Bass said, resigned and broken, “If we meet again, one of us will probably have to actually kill the other, so please make sure that I never see you again.”

Sebastian turned slowly, he looked heavy and dead inside, and walked down the hallway and into the dark night.

*******************************

Sebastian stepped into his house. It was quiet and dark. Lonely. All he could think about was the confusion on Miles’s face when he’d asked him that final question. He wished that he’d never asked. Somehow, he forced himself to walk down the hallway and into his office. It was the largest room in the house, with huge windows lining the right wall. He shuffled past the large wooden table under the windows and sat down behind his massive oak desk.

He didn’t want to be in any part of the house that reminded him of Miles, the interrogation room…the bedroom. He stared at the maps spread across his desk. Minutes rolled by. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to move again.

Through the stillness of the night, the bells from the church tower rang out, signaling the escape of the prisoners and Miles Matheson. He needed to stand up. He needed to act surprised and angry. He needed to act like he wanted nothing more than to hunt Miles down.

He didn’t move.

There had been a time when he’d loved the soothing melody of church bells. When he’d been stationed in Iraq, every Sunday he’d think of his family heading to church without him. As a teenager he’d hated church, but sitting in the sweltering heat of the desert with his semi-automatic, he’d have given anything to sit between his sisters in their favorite pew. Now, the bells just reminded him of the last time he’d been inside a church, the day he buried his family. 

Seconds of immobility became minutes, many minutes. He needed to stand up. He could hear soldiers marching and running outside. They needed guidance from their president. He needed to move.

There was a knock on his office door.

“Enter.”

It was Tom Neville with four soldiers behind him. They stepped into the center of the office and fanned out in a semi-circle.

“President Monroe,” Tom said. He looked on edge. “Will you please step out from behind your desk?”

The white noise that had been buzzing in Bass’s head stopped, his entire focus transferred to Tom.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

“Please step out from behind your desk, President Monroe. We need to take you down to the courthouse for a few questions.”

“Tom, I never took you for someone who wants his son to grow up an orphan.”

“Sir, it’s just a formality,” one of the other soldiers said. Herbert? Hibbert? Bass supposed his name didn’t matter.

He stood up and leaned his hands against the desk, looking only at Tom, “Finally, you show your hand. I’ve always known that you and your power-hungry bitch of a wife were out to get me.”

Tom’s hand twitched on his gun, but he didn’t pull it from its holster. He had always been too emotional about Julia and Jason. 

“I know this is all Tom’s idea, so I’ll give the rest of you one chance to about-face and walk out that door, no consequences.”

He was actually surprised when none of the soldiers moved. His tenuous grasp on the Republic had been slipping for so long that he could no longer gauge who was ally and who was foe. His obsession with capturing Miles for the past nine months certainly hadn’t helped. He’d noticed that the Republic was suffering for it, that his officers questioned his orders more readily and respected him less. But he couldn’t stop the obsession.

“I wanted to believe you, Mr. President,” Tom muttered, “That you could put the Republic before Miles, but I had my doubts. So, I had you followed. First your girlfriend left in the dead of night and then you. You followed her down to the prison where Miles was being held. But only you came back, and what do you think my man found when he went into the prison afterward?”

Bass just stared at him, really wishing that he hadn’t given his gun to Miles. He kept a gun in the drawer in his desk, but he couldn’t get to it before Tom could draw his weapon.

“Nothing,” Tom continued, “You helped a confessed traitor escape. I’m going to have to arrest you, Mr. President. I won’t sit by and watch you destroy everything we’ve built.”

“Miles escaped?” Bass asked, his voice high-pitched. He was aiming for confused innocence but it sounded more like sarcasm.

Tom tilted his head and narrowed his eyes, “I’m placing you under arrest. Please come quietly so nobody has to get hurt.”

“Mmmm,” Bass made a show of considering it, “No. What’s your second offer?”

“I suppose I’ll have to shoot you.”

Why the hell had he given his gun to Miles? Sebastian pulled his sword from its scabbard. He’d always loved that sound, the scrape of metal on metal that preceded a fight. It filled him with adrenaline.

“A sword, sir?” Tom asked, “Wouldn’t you rather use a gun?”

“I know I would,” Miles said from the doorway before opening fire. 

He would have shot Tom first, but there were two soldiers to his left who posed a more immediate threat. One shot to each of their heads and they were down. He turned the gun to Tom and fired once just as Tom and one of the other soldiers dove behind the large wooden conference table. Tom popped off two shots that exploded in the doorframe by Miles’s head. He jumped back into the hallway for cover.

Miles tried to remember where the second soldier had gone. He was fairly certain that he had jumped behind a couch along the inner wall, in the opposite direction as Tom. He’d be easy to pick off.

In the silence after the gunshots, Miles heard a drawer opening and then the crash of the table as Tom and the soldier turned it on its side.

“Bass?”

“I’m fine,” he yelled back.

“Seems you are cornered, Tom,” Miles sounded more confident than he felt, “So just give up this fucking coup and put your hands up.”

“Three against two, the odds are still in my favor, General Matheson.”

“Soldiers will be here in under a minute after they hear gunshots in the president’s house,” Miles just wanted to end this before Tom landed a lucky bullet into Bass. If he kept talking it might distract Tom from shooting.

Tom laughed, deep in his throat, “You’re reaching, Matheson. You think I didn’t think of that? You think I haven’t been planning this for months? No one is coming to help the president.” 

Miles didn’t know how to interpret that. Was he bluffing? Were more of Neville’s men on their way?

“Miles, what the fuck are you doing here?” Bass yelled. He sounded far away and muffled from behind his massive oak desk. Miles just wanted to see him again before they both died.

“Oh, I thought you might have a coup on your hands, thought you might need a little assistance,” Miles yelled from the hallway.

“Really?”

“No, not really. You asked me a question, and then you just walked away and didn’t give me time to answer.” 

“I gave you plenty of time. You just stood there like an idiot.”

“Are you two really going to have a goddamned heart-to-heart right now?” Tom asked. Miles could hear the scrape of the table on the hardwood floor as Tom and the soldier dragged it closer to the window-lined wall.

“Are you offering to leave and let us hash this out in private?” Miles asked, his voice monotone.

“If the president wants to stop hiding like a coward, you two can leave. I promise I won’t shoot him as he crosses the room.”

“I am going to cut your fucking heart out, Tom!” Sebastian screamed, completely losing his cool. Miles needed to redirect the conversation before Bass did something stupid. He’d always had such a short fuse.

“Bass, you know me,” Miles said calmly, “I’m not good at this kind of thing.”

The office erupted with four gunshots, three from a rifle, followed by one from a pistol. The shots were from the inner part of the room where the other soldier was hiding.

“Bass!” Miles yelled frantically. He couldn’t see a damn thing.

“I’m fine,” he said, “Just evening our odds.”

Miles realized that he better stop procrastinating or one of them would be dead before he could tell Bass why he’d come back. He certainly hadn’t imagined it this way. He thought he would simply walk in, find Bass, drunk and miserable in his office and pour his heart out to him in private. The world didn’t seem to be on his side lately.

“Sebastian, the reason I didn't wear that ring was because I was worried what people would think.”

“Ring?” he heard Tom mutter.

“And I’m not the commitment type,” Miles continued, “You know that, right?”

“Miles, it’s fine. It doesn’t really matter.”

Miles sighed. He obviously wasn’t getting through. He absolutely hated talking about emotions, but it had never stopped Bass from forcing him to. How many times had Miles heard the dreaded words ‘we need to talk about this’ come out of Bass’s mouth? Talk, talk, talk. It was all Bass ever wanted to do. Miles had always considered sex to be a much better way to end a fight. Unfortunately, make-up sex was not presently an option.

“No, what I’m saying, Sebastian, is that I love you. It has always been you. I’m just private, you know that.”

“Sure,” Bass replied.

The soldier with Tom opened fire again on Bass’s desk, but between the shots Miles also heard the squeak of a door…or a window…opening. He peered in the room and spotted Tom pushing one of the windows open. The asshole was trying to escape. He’d probably been bluffing about having more men on the way. Miles took aim, but before he could shoot, the soldier redirected his gun at Miles. A bullet clipped Miles in the left shoulder. He fell back into the hallway and cried out. That was too close.

“Miles?” Bass yelled, “What happened?”

“Nothing, just a graze,” Miles forced himself to keep going despite the pain in his arm. He would probably never get another chance, “I’m sorry. I was stupid. You wanted to stop lying, right? I’d give anything to go back to that night and not have that fight. I don’t care what people think anymore. Fuck them. I should have worn that ring.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt this beautiful moment,” Tom exclaimed, he was definitely too close to that open window, “But that’s why you left?”

Neither of them answered. Miles was already angry enough about being forced to have this conversation in front of Tom. He certainly didn’t owe him any explanations. He glanced cautiously around the doorway. He just wanted to see Bass, just one more time before they died. He’d never forgive Tom for denying him that.

“Monroe,” Tom’s voice, usually so calm, had taken on a hard edge, “You threw this entire republic into turmoil because of a goddamned domestic dispute? What about your lofty beliefs on men with families? How we can’t be trusted because we have competing loyalties? You beat my son, remember that?” 

“Well, now you know where that belief came from, Tom,” Bass’s voice was low and deadly.

“I won’t let you destroy everything we built because of Miles Matheson,” Tom replied.

Miles had to admit that Tom had a point, but it certainly didn’t change the fact that he was going to kill him for this.

The room erupted with the sound of gunshots again. Miles peered in to see both Tom and the soldier indiscriminately peppering the desk with bullets, pieces of oak flying off of it. A bullet could easily make it through that desk. This was Miles's last chance. He stepped into the room and aimed his gun.

Before he could fire, an explosion shook the house. The windows shattered and blew inward. Miles fell to the floor, covering his head with his arms. His ears were ringing.

He crawled through the debris to the desk as Bass stumbled toward him.

“Are you okay?” Miles yelled, coughing and wrapping his arm around Bass.

“Yeah,” Bass replied, out of breath, “Tom?”

They looked to the window just in time to see Tom, bloody and dusty, hauling himself through it. Miles pointed his gun and fired a shot, but it was too late.

The other soldier stood up, shaking, blood dripping down his face. Miles noticed for the first time how young he was, probably not even twenty. He was staring at them, terrified. Miles jerked as Bass’s gun fired beside him. The soldier’s head lurched back, blood and brains splattering the wall behind him.

“I can’t let Neville get away,” Bass exclaimed, hurrying toward the window, gun raised as he peered out, “Shit.”

Another explosion reverberated through the night air, but it was farther away. They stood up and looked out of the broken windows. Smoke and dust were billowing from near the statehouse.

“What the hell?” Bass yelled, “That was a rocket, not a bomb. How is Tom powering a rocket?”

“Rocket launcher from a Humvee,” Miles whispered, making Bass turn to him wide-eyed, “Nora, maybe Charlie.”

“What?”

“Andrea, before I told her leave without me, that I needed to come back, she told me—“

There was another explosion from the opposite direction, smaller, possibly from a handheld rocket launcher. Bass looked at Miles frantically.

“She told me,” Miles yelled over the sound, “That I would rendezvous with some rebels about ten miles to the north. I never even thought about it, but if I was supposed to rendezvous with Charlie or Nora? When I didn’t show up, this would have been their contingency plan.”

“Don’t lie to me, Miles,” Bass said with venom, “This response is too rapid for a contingency plan. This was _always_ the plan. Why else would you be amassing rocket launchers?”

Miles grabbed him, angry at the accusation, “I wouldn’t attack Philadelphia. There are thousands of civilians in this city. The weapons were for defensive purposes.”

Sebastian gave him a look of disbelief. Miles didn’t know why he neglected to tell Bass about Randall Flynn and his factory up in Canada. That was why they were amassing weapons, to try to take out that factory. But Miles had mentioned Randall to Sebastian two weeks ago in the interrogation tent and Bass hadn’t reacted at all. He probably didn’t even know about Randall. Hell, Miles hadn’t known about him until three months ago when Grace Beaumont had shown up at their rebel camp and Rachel had finally come clean about everything.

Miles just hoped that the rebels stopped firing missiles soon or they wouldn’t have enough left to deal with Randall later. He hoped that Nora was in charge of this attack. Nora would stay rational when Charlie couldn’t.

“Rocket launchers need pendants. How many?” Bass asked, moving on to the task at hand, even if he still doubted Miles’s words.

Another explosion, closer, made them fall to the floor again and crawl away from the windows.

“We have three pendants and about 50 rockets,” Miles yelled, descending back into his role as Commanding General without thinking. He had been Sebastian’s ally in so many battles that it seemed unnatural not to help him in this situation.

“Fuck,” Bass muttered, finally standing and heading toward the door, “My pendant, it’s at the statehouse. I need to get it before it’s destroyed.”

They both halted at the sound of footsteps in the hallway, someone running and yelling, “Monroe!”

Jeremy slid into the room, “President—“

He stopped, taking in the dead soldiers on the ground, the broken glass, the overturned table, and then Miles. His eyes widened and he pulled out his gun. Bass quickly stepped in front of Miles, arms up.

“Jeremy, no. Tom tried to kill me and Miles…well, he did this,” he gestured toward the two dead soldiers.

Confusion flitted across Jeremy’s face for about one second before it turned to resolve. Miles had missed his pragmatism, something his present allies were often lacking. Jeremy slid his gun back into its holster.

“What do you need me to do, sir?” he asked Monroe.

“Report.”

There was another explosion far away. _Five,_ Miles was counting them in his head, each another missile he couldn’t use against Randall.

“Collins and Jackson are working to determine where the rockets are being launched from. Then they’ll send out units to try to take them out.”

“Good, and the statehouse?”

“I don’t know if it’s still standing.”

“Baker, I need you to come with me. My pendant is in there.”

Jeremy nodded.

Sebastian turned to Miles, “Thank you for...what you said about the ring.”

He squeezed Miles’s uninjured arm with finality, planting a light kiss on his lips, his hand brushing along Miles’s cheek. It was a farewell kiss. He still expected Miles to flee into the night without him. As Bass pulled back and headed for the door, Miles opened his eyes and glanced at Jeremy.

He gave Miles a subtle nod and then turned and followed Sebastian out of the door.

Miles thought of Nora somewhere out there, the militia hunting her. But what could he do for her? If they were going to find her, they could certainly do it before he could. She had always been smart and careful, so he had to believe that she would survive.

“I’m going to fucking regret this,” Miles muttered to himself before limp-running after them, “Wait, guys, I’m coming.”

*************************

The city was on fire. Soldiers and civilians were organizing themselves into lines to relay water from the wells to the burning buildings. Sebastian could see that it was a losing battle. They needed fire engines. They needed power. He swept past them with Jeremy and Miles, down a couple alleys and out into the main thoroughfare. The statehouse stood undamaged, next to a partly collapsed building. Relief filled him and he ran toward it. Somehow Miles had kept up despite his injured foot, but Sebastian refused to slow for him. The pendant was more important than anything, including Miles and himself.

An explosion shook the ground and knocked him down. It was probably only a block away. Jeremy helped him up.

“They are definitely targeting this building,” Jeremy yelled, “We need to hurry.”

“Stay, I’ll be right back. Then we go to the armory.”

Sebastian bolted down the hallway, sliding painfully into the wall as he rounded a corner. Another close explosion almost shook him off of his feet. Jeremy was correct, the rebels were targeting the important buildings. If they knew where the armory was, they were certainly targeting that too. He fumbled with his keys. His hands were shaking from the adrenaline, but he managed to slide the large golden key into the vault door, pushing it open with difficulty. The pendant was in a lockbox along the inner wall. Only Sebastian knew which one. He pulled it out and wrapped the cord tightly around his wrist. It still amazed him how something so small and insignificant could completely destroy the world.

He darted back into the hallway, running toward the outer door. Miles was standing just inside the building, a faint smile on his face when he spotted Bass. Jeremy was out in the street directing soldiers. 

Sebastian was only three feet from Miles when the wall to his left, behind him, exploded into the building. He jumped for Miles, pushing him out of the doorway and onto the dirt road as wood and brick fell onto them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said above, I wouldn’t end the story that way. To be continued.


	5. Shattered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter left after this one. The final chapter is about half finished, so I should get this baby wrapped up in the next few days. Thank you all for for sticking with this. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

_In which everything burns_

Sebastian came back into the world slowly. Everything was shaking. He couldn’t breathe. His chest felt heavy. Jeremy materialized over him, his mouth moving but no sound was coming out. How could he yell without making any sound? He was frantically pulling bricks off of Bass’s body. Finally Bass felt the weight lift from his chest. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling only dust and debris. Violent coughing shook his body, as Jeremy pulled him away from the building.

“Miles,” he said, grasping Jeremy’s coat, but no sound came out. Somehow Jeremy understood, nodding his head and running back into the debris field. The ringing in his skull transformed into a dull thud. The sound of explosions and shouts began to fill the ringing void.

Bass tried to push himself up, searching for Miles, but a searing pain radiated through his entire left leg. He screamed and fell back onto the ground, the world spinning and starting to fade. He rested his head back onto the dirt and forced himself to breathe. He couldn’t lose consciousness. After a few breaths, he felt centered enough to raise his head and check his injury. A piece of wood was jutting from his outer thigh, just above his knee. He pulled it out, tears coming to his eyes.

Jeremy came up beside him, pulling Miles across the dirt road and depositing him beside Bass. Sebastian rolled onto his side, ignoring the pain and propping himself up to check Miles’s injuries. There was a jagged shard of glass, sticking out of Miles’s right stomach, just below his ribs. It was about a half-inch think and three inches long. Bass gingerly felt along Miles’s back, curious if the glass had traveled all of the way through his body. His fingers found the sharp, pointed edge sticking out of Miles’s back. When he pulled back, his fingers were covered in blood. 

“Not again,” Bass murmured as Miles looked up at him. At least he was alive.

Miles groaned in pain and closed his eyes, focusing on breathing.

“Jeremy,” Bass yelled, sitting up in spite of the nausea, “We have to take him to the hospital.”

Jeremy leaned down and placed his hand on Bass’s arm, “Sir, don’t shoot me for this, but I don’t think that is a good idea.”

Bass narrowed his eyes. Jeremy had long been a trusted friend, one of the few Bass had, the one person besides Miles who he thought he could always rely on.

“The hospital is going to be inundated,” Jeremy continued before Bass could begin his rant on how Jeremy was a fucking traitor, “It will be in triage, so they might not even treat the man who they will view as the leader of the attack. And the fire, it will get to the hospital soon. They’ll have to move everyone. It will be chaos.”

“I’m the president. They’ll do what I say,” Bass believed the words until he heard them. Everything was falling apart and Miles was the enemy. Jeremy was right.

“Sir," Jeremy’s mouth worked like he was considering his words carefully, trying to figure out how to contradict Bass without receiving his unpredictable wrath, “Even if they did treat him, he is scheduled to die in two days. If you really want to save Miles’s life, you might only have one option.”

Bass thought of Tom Neville, still alive somewhere plotting to overthrow him. How many men did he have on his side? Just those four dead soldiers, or had a coup become inevitable? And if Bass saved Miles Matheson's life while his citizens were dying by Miles Matheson's hand, how long before there was an uprising? Miles had been right, it was the Republic or Miles. He couldn't have both. Miles had said that the rebels had three pendants, but the rockets only appeared to be coming from two locations. That left one pendant unaccounted for. The Mathesons had always been smarter than him, they would realize that a pendant also meant power for medical devices, not just weapons.

"Miles, did the rebels have electronic medical equipment?"

For a few moments Miles didn't reply, too wrapped up in his pain, but finally he brought his chin down once, barely a nod. Bass wasn't even sure if Miles had heard him, if that was an answer, but time was running out.

Silently, Sebastian held the pendant out for Jeremy, cord still wrapped around his wrist, “Take this. Get the armored Humvee. Bring it back here. And a first aid kit.”

Jeremy ran into the fire-lit night as Bass sat up and leaned over Miles. He was breathing hard, his eyes still closed. People ran past without giving them a second glance.

Bass touched Miles’s face lightly and whispered his name. When he opened his eyes it was obvious that the pain was excruciating. He could barely focus on Bass.

“Where else does it hurt?”

Miles took a few shallow, difficult breaths before he could answer, “Here,” he touched his lower right pelvis, “It is a dull ache.”

Bass nodded and poked it gently. Miles hissed in pain, his head falling onto the ground, his body tensing.

“Sorry,” Bass muttered.

“And ribs, broken, maybe,” Miles whispered, pointing to his left chest. That would explain why Miles’s breathing was so labored. Luckily, there wasn’t any blood in his mouth, which might have indicated a punctured lung.

“Okay,” Bass tried to sound optimistic, “I think Trenton was worse.”

“Liar.”

Bass wanted to argue, but he didn’t have the strength. Miles was right, this looked much worse than the gunshot in Trenton. He looked back at the statehouse, trying to focus his thoughts. The entire front façade still stood, completely intact. The missile had hit the back section of the building and blown out the central rooms. That was where the debris had come from. They had been lucky. Had it hit a few feet closer to the front of the building, had Sebastian still been in the vault…They had been lucky, he tried to tell himself, but looking back down at Miles, it didn’t feel like good luck.

“Miles, where were you supposed to rendezvous with the rebels?”

“No,” Miles muttered, his eyes closed again as he tried to focus through the pain, “Suicide mission.”

“I’m not in the mood for this game, Miles. So, just answer the damn question.”

Miles finally looked at Bass, confusion and exhaustion on his face. He searched his eyes, probably for a chink, for a weakness that he could use to convince Bass to let him die. Bass kept his face hard and determined, although he felt like he might break at any moment. To have Miles back and then lose him permanently, it wasn’t an option. Miles sighed.

“Bass, you can’t come back from this decision. Leaving the Republic when it needs you most. You can’t come back.”

“Like you said, Miles, two choices, the Republic or you. I’m making my choice, the one you begged me to make and now you want to talk me out of it?”

Sebastian was surprised when Miles didn’t have a snarky comeback. He simply smiled and grabbed Bass’s hand, giving it a light squeeze.

“I was supposed to meet someone up at the old country club in Glenside.”

“Which one?” There were about four country clubs in Glenside, catering to the excessive lifestyles that the wealthy once enjoyed.

“North Hills, in front of the collapsed main building.”

Sebastian lay down beside Miles, draping his arm across his chest as gently as he could. Miles sighed, his body relaxing slightly. The explosions were becoming less frequent. Exhaustion hit Bass as the high of combat wore off. Last night he had been lying in bed with Miles, thinking that he had his lover and best friend back. Now, the world was burning and falling apart.

“Bass?”

“Hmm.”

“Can you remember the last time we weren’t fighting a war?”

“High school?” Sebastian answered, “But high school kind of felt like war. So, never?”

Miles breathed out, “That is what I want. I think that is all I’ve wanted for a long time.”

“Yeah.”

The ground shook violently with a massive explosion, as if the world understood irony and it had decided long ago that Miles Matheson would never get what he wanted. People screamed and fell onto the road, covering their heads. As the first explosion died down there was another, and another, an unending vibration through the air.

The armory.

Sebastian sat up and gazed to the west, four blocks away where clouds of smoke and fire burst into the sky. They had hit the armory. Bass watched helplessly as much of the ammunition that he had stockpiled was destroyed in a chain reaction of explosions. It was over. Fire would spread. Philadelphia would burn.

“Jeremy,” Miles murmured.

“He’s had plenty of time to get there and start back. He’ll be here any minute.”

“Bass,” Miles reached up and touched his face, drawing Bass’s gaze back to him, “You should go help your people, your men. They need you.”

“That argument didn’t work last time. Why would it work now?”

“Bass—“

“Shhh,” Bass leaned down and kissed his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, “You’re not in a position to argue, so stop trying.”

As the explosions finally ended, Bass heard the hum of an engine. He would have cried from joy if he hadn’t been so tired. Instead he simply gazed, dead-eyed, into the bright headlights of the Humvee as it came careening, rather carelessly around the corner, screeching to a halt next to them. Jeremy hopped out, breathing hard.

“Jesus!” he yelled, opening the back door of the vehicle and sliding a stretcher out, placing it on the ground beside Miles’s left side, “Monroe, can you stand?”

Bass nodded and pushed himself up, careful to place all of his weight on his uninjured leg. Miles gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as they rolled him onto the stretcher, but he didn’t cry out. 

Bass started to close the backdoor, but Jeremy stopped him, “Get in, sir. You need to dress the wound and stop the bleeding as best you can.”

“But, I have to drive.”

“I’m driving, sir,” he replied, starting toward the driver’s door.

Sebastian pulled him back despite his fatigue, “Jeremy, no. You stay here, help.”

Jeremy smirked at him, “Sebastian, why do you think I’ve stayed all of these years? It certainly wasn’t the pension…and since apparently we are all trying out honesty for a change, it wasn’t for this damn Republic either.”

Bass actually smiled despite the situation.

“So, forgive the insubordination, sir, but get in the damn vehicle and make sure he doesn’t bleed out.”

Jeremy turned and climbed into the driver’s seat without waiting for a response. Bass breathed out, almost a laugh and climbed in the back with Miles.

The Humvee jerked and bounced along the dirt roads, swerving haphazardly to miss soldiers and civilians. A half dozen times, Sebastian almost yelled at Jeremy to slow down, that Jeremy was going to kill them with his reckless driving. But then, he would look at Miles, bleeding and dying, and Bass would hold his tongue. If Miles died, they might as well get into a car accident. Nothing would matter if he died.

Bass rooted around in the first-aid kit, finding scissors, dressings, antiseptics, but no painkillers. He cursed as he cut Miles’s shirt off, finally exposing the wound. It was rough and still oozing blood. He had to stifle the blood flow without dislodging the glass shard. He rolled Miles on to his other side making him groan in agony.

“Sorry, I just need to—“

“Don’t apologize,” Miles hissed through clenched teeth, “But it hurts like a bitch.”

Bass pressed the dressing under the exit wound in his back, rolling him back down. The car hit a bump and Miles slammed into the stretcher, slightly dislodging the glass. Bass grabbed it tightly holding it is place, too wired to notice that he had cut long gashes into his palms in the process.

Miles’s breathing had become frantic and short, like he was hyperventilating. Sebastian remembered his training from the military, that a wounded man’s worst enemy was often his own mind.

“Remember the first time I kissed you?” Bass asked, trying to sound light and happy as he cut a hole in the dressing and slid it over the glass shard sticking out of Miles’s stomach. He carefully pressed it to the wound.

It took Miles a few moments to collect his thoughts and answer, but he finally did, “Of course.”

“After you finally recovered from that gunshot at Trenton, kissing you was all I could think about whenever I was around you, but I was convinced that you’d slap me.”

Miles actually smiled, his complete focus on Bass. It was a story that Bass had told to Miles dozens of times, usually by request when they were lying in bed at night. Miles didn’t seem to mind the redundancy.

“After all, I was the one who kissed boys, not you. I’d only ever seen you with women. But remember how you’d touch my shoulder just a little too long. Gaze right into my eyes whenever I spoke. It went on for months. I was so fucking confused.”

Miles chuckled, “You think _you_ were confused. I’d always thought you were beautiful, but almost dying has a way of making one reevaluate his life.”

Sebastian grinned, slowly increasing the pressure on Miles’s wound, “And then we went to that dinner at Jeremy’s house and there was that blonde throwing herself at you, and you just completely ignored her. You kept talking to me and I remember thinking, Miles has never ignored a hot blonde.”

“Well, you are a hot blond, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Jeremy chuckled from the front of the vehicle, “Is this how he won you over, Sebastian, with his glowing wit?”

“If that’s all it took I’d be with you, Jeremy.”

Bass could hear the smile in Jeremy’s voice as he responded, “That’s precious. You think you could get me.”

Miles breathed out and smiled up at Bass as he continued his story, “We were both a little drunk, not too much, just drunk enough. You walked me back to my house, and you just kept standing there talking to me, like we were in high school or something.”

“I’d never been that nervous, not even in high school, Bass.”

“And I thought ‘fuck it, Miles will forgive me if what I’m about to do is not what he wants,’” Bass continued, it was a dialogue that they had told each other so many times, Bass knew when he was supposed to respond and when he was supposed to continue the story, “But I was still scared, so I remember I touched your hair and then brought my hand down along your neck.”

Bass mimicked the gesture, leaving his hand on Miles’s neck.

“My entire stomach dropped out of my body,” Miles said, that was his line at this moment.

“And I leaned in and kissed you, lightly at first. I still thought you might punch me.”

“But I kissed you back. Best fucking kiss of my life…at least at that point.”

“Really?” Bass exclaimed, acting like he was angry, “Who has kissed you better since then?”

“Just you.”

The vehicle slid into the gravel outside the North Hills clubhouse and Jeremy turned back to Bass, “Have you got a white flag? White anything?”

“Fuck,” Sebastian muttered, the tender moment breaking as he searched through the vehicle. Nothing.

“The things I do for you two,” Jeremy said, stepping out the Humvee and crouching down behind the door just in case someone chose to open fire. He took off his dark black outer garment and then his white undershirt. Pulling the outer shirt back on, he waved the white one in the air over the vehicle.

“Miles Matheson is injured!” he yelled, “We just want to take him to your hospital!”

“I’m not stupid,” Charlie yelled from the building, but Bass couldn’t spot her from through the windows.

“Miles, I need you to try to speak loudly enough for your niece to hear.”

“Charlie, it’s not a trap,” Miles’s voice was scratchy, but strong, “I promise.”

Sebastian finally spotted her, M16 propped against her shoulder as she cautiously stepped toward the vehicle, “Captain, come out from behind the door.”

Jeremy did as he was told, hands up, still holding his white shirt. Charlie made her way around him to the back of the Humvee as Sebastian opened the back door and held his hands up. The cautious scowl on her face dissolved into fear at seeing Miles, glass shard still jutting out of his gut.

“Given this attack,” Bass said, keeping his voice calm, “You would probably set up a makeshift hospital just in case you had any injuries, right?”

Charlie didn’t reply as her eyes finally focused on Sebastian. She was shaking, her grip on the gun tightening as she toyed with the idea of shooting him. He couldn’t blame her after Ben and Danny.

“Do you know where it is, Charlotte?”

“Charlie,” Miles whispered, he was growing weaker, “Please.”

“There is an old airstrip, a small one. Mom called it Wings Field.”

“I know it,” Jeremy said, jumping back into the Humvee.

When Charlie continued to stand behind the vehicle, staring at Sebastian, her face a mixture of fear and loathing, he raised his eyebrows at her, “Well, get in.”

She slid the M16 on the opposite side of Miles and climbed in, immediately pulling her handgun from its holster and pointing it Bass. The car lurched back out onto the road as Jeremy sped west.

Miles smiled up at them, “I always wanted you two to meet.”

Bass kept his hands on the wound, and tried to smile at him. He was obviously descending into delirium if he thought putting Charlie and Bass in a confined space with a weapon was a happy occasion.

“Honey,” Bass murmured, “We’ve met before, you just weren’t there.”

“Really?” Miles’s mouth curved upward, “What did you guys do together?”

Before he could answer, Charlie’s hard voice cut through the moment, “He had one of his men hold a gun to my head.”

Bass wanted to strangle her. Hadn’t she seen enough death to understand that Miles was teetering on the edge of it and that she shouldn’t upset him?

Unfortunately, Miles’s hold on reality was slipping even more than Bass realized, because he chuckled and said, “That is just how Bass makes you remember that you love him. That’s how he wins you back.”

Miles gazed up at him, completely serene, any sign of his previous pain gone. Bass had seen enough war to know what it meant when the pain dissolved. He tried to hold in his turmoil and be brave, but he could feel himself cracking and falling apart inside. Miles raised his hand up and caressed the back of his fingers along Bass’s cheek. Despite himself, Bass leaned into the touch and closed his eyes.

“That’s how he shows you that you’ve been dead for the past four years.”

Bass opened his eyes to find Miles looking glassy-eyed.

“That’s how he shows you what it is to be alive again.”

Charlie, Jeremy, everything disappeared as Sebastian grasped Miles’s face in his hands, forgetting that they were covered in blood, and started to cry. The tears painted salty tracks down his cheeks.

“No,” Miles whispered, wiping away the tears, “Baby, no.”

Bass’s body shook with sobs as he leaned down and caressed Miles’s lips with his, finally noticing that he’d covered Miles’s cheeks in blood. He took off his jacket and tried to wipe the blood off, leaving dark brown swirls on Miles’s perfect face.

Miles glanced back at Charlie and he laughed, “Lizzie, where have you been?”

“Lizzie?” Charlie gasped. She seemed too shocked and horrified by everything she had witnessed to be able to form words.

“My youngest sister,” Bass responded.

“I want to play basketball,” Miles said, trying to sit up and hissing in pain. Bass pushed him back down as gently as he could.

“How close are we, Jeremy?” he yelled.

“Less than a mile.”

“Go get Anna,” Miles was saying to Charlie, “Then we will have four people. We can play two-on-two, you and me against Bass and Anna. We’ll demolish them like we did last time.”

“Okay, Miles,” Charlie said, tears coming to hers eyes as well.

“Why isn’t she here yet?” Miles asked.

Bass took hold of his hand, “Probably just getting some ice cream. You know how much she loves ice cream.”

“Ooh, ice cream. Get me…some…too.”

Miles’s eyes slid shut, his head falling to the side as he slipped into unconsciousness.

“Jeremy, drive as fucking fast as you can!”

“Doing my best, boss.”

“Do better!”

Bass pushed both of his hands into the dressing around Miles’s wounds, since he no longer had to worry about hurting Miles. But still the blood flowed. It wasn’t rapid, but this excursion had taken so long. He had still lost too much blood. Bass looked down at the red, sticky pool around his knees and tried not to cry. Jeremy had been wrong. He should have taken Miles to the hospital. This was his fault. His stupid decisions had destroyed everything, starting with giving Miles that fucking ring. 

Of course, he’d wanted to marry Miles, but he had always known that Miles wasn’t interested in marriage. Bass had been playing a game of chess as much as he had been asking Miles to marry him. He was so sick of hiding their relationship. He just wanted to stop hiding. He knew he had to force Miles’s hand. He’d never expected Miles to actually say “no.”

Now, Miles was dying, and it had all started there, with that ring. Bass could see every horrible decision stretched out behind him: the ring, fucking Amy, keeping Rachel, killing Ben, kidnapping Danny, killing Danny, taking Miles. Everything was his fault.

The Humvee screeched to a halt, knocking him out of his self-loathing. Bass popped the backdoor open and started to climb out.

“Stop,” Charlie said, physically pushing him back and climbing out, “They’ll shoot you.”

She ran into the old terminal as Sebastian hopped out of the vehicle anyway. Jeremy was there to help him pull the stretcher out and they began taking Miles toward the building. Charlie reemerged with six armed men and Rachel, the gun in her hand pointed at Bass.

Two of the men grabbed the stretcher and tried to wrench it from them. Bass tightened his hold. No one would take Miles from him. Another man pushed him away from the stretcher, putting the barrel of a gun in his face. He ignored it, and tried to follow as they carried Miles into the building.

Two men grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him to the ground. He lashed out like caged animal, punching, kicking, scratching. He completely disregarded the stabbing pain in his thigh and scrambled toward the building as Miles disappeared inside. If he didn’t break free, that might be the last time he ever saw Miles. Somewhere within his rage he heard Jeremy, telling him to calm down, to put his hands up. He chose to punch the man holding him instead. The crack of Rachel’s handgun reverberated through the night air as she shot a hole in the ground six inches from Bass’s feet.

“Get on the fucking ground, Sebastian.”

He stopped struggling, but he refused to kneel for Rachel Matheson.

“If he dies and I’m not there with him, I will burn all of you to ground,” Bass replied.

“I’ve heard your bravado before. It doesn’t impress me.”

Bass cocked his eyebrow. He often forgot that Rachel had known him since he was 16 years old. The presidential act didn’t generally work on her.

“What are you and Captain Baker doing here?”

“Trying to save your brother-in-law’s life after you tried to kill him.”

“After we tried to kill him?” Rachel asked, steadying her gun on Bass’s head as Charlie stepped out of building and walked toward them.

“How is he?” Sebastian completely forgot about Rachel.

“They are giving him blood and he is going in for surgery, but I’m supposed to get a report from you about exactly what happened to him.”

“Okay,” Bass stepped toward the building, but one of the men grabbed him and Rachel moved to block his way.

“You can tell Charlie, she’ll relay the report.”

He’d forgotten what a bitch Rachel could be, but Miles…he wouldn’t let Miles die because of his stubbornness, “We were in the statehouse when one of your missiles hit it.”

The fear in Rachel’s face was immediate.

“We were hit with debris. Jeremy saw everything.”

Jeremy stepped up, “Miles was crushed pretty badly. He probably has internal bleeding. The glass shard was the only major outward injury.”

“He also complained about his ribs on the left side and his abdomen on the right side,” Bass interjected, “It was about thirty minutes ago.”

Charlie ran back into the building as Rachel regarded Sebastian and Jeremy with complete confusion, “Why was Miles in the statehouse with you when he was supposed to be escaping to Glenside to meet up with Charlie?”

Bass and Jeremy turned to each other simultaneously, raising their eyebrows at each other. That was _the_ question, wasn’t it?

When they didn’t answer, Rachel continued angrily, “Did you take him there as a captive?”

“No,” Bass said, failing to hide the triumphant sarcasm from his voice.

Rachel turned to Jeremy, “Baker, I trust you way more than I trust him. Report, please.”

Jeremy stared at her, raised his eyebrow and crossed his hands in front of his chest, “I don’t report to you.”

Rachel shot another bullet into the ground, this time next to Jeremy’s feet. Did she think that there was a limitless supply of bullets in the world? For the sake of the world’s bullet reserves, Bass nodded to Jeremy to answer.

“I went to the president’s house when your attack started and I found President Monroe and Miles in a sea of dead soldiers. Monroe decided to rescue the pendant from the statehouse, and Miles wanted to come along.”

“So, Miles probably went with you so he could steal the pendant,” Rachel exclaimed, as if she was trying to convince herself.

“I might have neglected to mention,” Jeremy replied, “That Miles and Monroe were _kissing_ in sea of dead soldiers.”

Bass smirked at Rachel. There were times when he loved Jeremy completely and now was one of those times.

Rachel lowered her weapon, horror spreading across her features as Charlie joined them again. Miles was being prepped for emergency surgery. Bass breathed a sigh of relief, at least he wasn’t dead yet.

“Charlie, was Miles ever conscious on your drive over here?” Rachel asked, barely containing the frantic fear in her voice.

“Yeah, at first and then he started imagining things.”

“What were he and Monroe like, with each other?”

Charlie’s eyes grew wide and she stared at Bass. He tried to keep his expression guarded.

“Like…lovers.”

“What did you do to him, Sebastian?” Rachel asked, her voice low.

He pulled his arms free and stepped toward her as she raised her gun again. He didn’t care, he said slowly with as much venom as he could muster, “If he dies and I’m not with him, I will burn all of you to the ground.”

She glanced at one of the men behind him and he throttled Bass in the back of the head with the butt of his gun. He fell to the ground. Jeremy was beside him in an instant, supporting his weight as he refocused.

“Sebastian, if Miles lives through this, which Miles is going to wake up, the old one or the new one?” Rachel asked.

Bass looked up at her, he didn’t like kneeling in front of her, but his body had experienced too much trauma today and it was beginning to fail him. The adrenaline of trying to save Miles was wearing off, and the wound in his thigh was starting to ache.

“There is only one Miles. He’s the same person he’s always been. You think he was evil back when he was with me? You think you stole him from me and reformed him? He wasn’t evil. He didn’t need to be reformed. And you were an idiot to think that you could ever steal him from me, that you could wipe me from his memory. I know you tried, didn’t you, Rache?”

She glared at him, but said nothing. He pushed himself onto his feet with Jeremy’s help, and leaned toward Rachel, just a little too close. Bass had a problem respecting other people’s personal space, but Rachel was used to it.

“But Miles always comes back to me because I love him exactly as he is. You all expect him to fit into a little ‘good Miles’ mold that you’ve created for him. That is why you will always lose him. He’s mine, always will be,” Bass said.

“A regular Bonnie and Clyde,” Rachel replied.

“You sit on your high horse, judging us. Well, excuse us for trying to rebuild the world after you and your friends destroyed it. How many deaths are you responsible for, Rachel? Billions? Miles and I aren’t even in the same category as you.”

She raised her hand up to slap him, but he anticipated it and grabbed her wrist mid-swing. She jerked back reflexively, trying to get away. Almost immediately, he was knocked down from behind and hit in the head with a gun again.

The world started to spin and his head was throbbing. He heard Jeremy yelling at Rachel’s men, trying to stop the attack. But there was nothing Jeremy could do. They pummeled him from both sides with the butts of their rifles. He pulled himself into a fetal position, trying to protect his head. He tried to think of Miles, but any thoughts he created slipped away on the river of pain. He could think only of the agony of each blow, wishing that he could leave his body.

As he slipped into unconsciousness he thought he heard a second voice yelling “stop” alongside Jeremy’s, a young woman’s voice. Charlie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully y'all don't mind the lack of action, since this chapter was mostly just feels. One more left.


	6. When the Path is Clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is: the last chapter. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me through all of this, the first fanfiction I’ve ever had the courage to post (although not the first one I’ve ever written). Your support drove me to finish, so thank you from the bottom of my heart! Hope this last chapter doesn’t disappoint. Although, if any of you really dislike Charlie, it might.
> 
> Unbeta’d as always, so if I write “vibrato” instead of “bravado,” let me know. *wink*

_In which Charlie must decide_

Miles opened his eyes to find Charlie, sitting in a chair beside his bed, reading a book. She had cut her hair; it was shoulder-length. It made her look more mature. He groaned and she glanced up, surprise and joy lighting her eyes as she dropped her book and came to his side. She grasped his hand and whispered his name. He felt hazy and drugged, but he smiled regardless.

“Where is he?” he asked, without thinking.

Her grin dissolved, but she didn’t look angry, just confused, “Miles, you should try to rest. You were in critical condition for weeks.”

“Weeks?” his foggy brain tried, and failed, to focus, “Oh God, is he dead?”

Charlie paused for one moment. Miles felt his stomach turn inside out.

“Charlie,” he said frantically, trying to pull the sheet off of his body.

“Miles, calm down. He’s not dead, but…”

Miles fell back onto the bed. He didn’t care what came after the “but.” Bass was alive.

“How long have I been out?”

“Four weeks. You lost a lot of blood and the glass shard hit part of your liver. They had to remove a section of it, but they claim it won’t cause any long-term problems. You were lucky.”

“Jeremy?”

“Alive.”

“Why?” Miles asked, suddenly realizing that it didn’t make any sense for the rebels to keep Bass and Jeremy alive, especially Bass.

“What is the last thing you remember?” Charlie inquired.

Miles thought back to the attack on Philadelphia and fast-forwarded through all of the events in his head, the explosion, waiting for Jeremy to retrieve the Humvee, the bumpy journey. The playback stopped, everything after was a blur.

“We were driving to the rendezvous spot and Bass was trying to distract me by talking about our first kiss,” he was too tired to realize that he had just confessed the nature of their relationship to Charlie. She had no idea that they had been lovers. Oddly, she didn’t look surprised.

Charlie nodded, “Mom was worried about how you would react if you woke up to find that we had killed Baker and Monroe, so she ordered that they be kept alive as long as you were alive.”

Miles sighed and closed his eyes. The lives of three people had hung in the balance for weeks. He thanked God that he had survived, now that he understood what it meant.

“I want to see them.”

“Of course, Miles, but the doctor claimed that you should still rest for a couple of weeks even after you woke up.”

“Right,” Miles was too relieved to argue, “Just make sure that no one kills them, please, Charlie.”

She paused, lightly caressing Miles’s hand with her thumb, “Sure.”

Miles closed his eyes and fell asleep.

*********************

_Two Weeks Later_

Miles felt like his hospital room had a revolving door on it. Charlie, Nora, and Aaron came by regularly, but never Rachel. He’d ask for her and it would always be the same story. She was busy. He needed to talk to her about Bass and Jeremy, but she never came and everyone else avoided the subject. When he asked Aaron, he diverted the conversation, talking about the trip to Lake Ontario, where they were currently encamped. When he asked Nora, she just glared and left the room. Charlie was the only one who ever replied to his questions. She told him that Bass and Jeremy were still alive, but that it didn’t look good. She claimed that Rachel had been forced to post eight guards outside Sebastian’s cell after an angry mob decided that they were sick of waiting for justice and had tried to storm the makeshift prison. Miles wanted to ask more, but he sensed how much it hurt her to talk about Monroe. He knew that Charlie would always blame him for Danny’s death. She had every right to hate him. So, he avoided to topic around her, and waited impatiently to be allowed to see Bass himself.

When he was finally released from the hospital, Charlie escorted him to a briefing. It took all of his strength to simply agree and follow her. He only cared about seeing Sebastian.

Rachel, Nora, Aaron and Grace were seated around a large oval table with a map and four pendants. It reminded him of that first meeting with Grace after she’d arrived.

_**Flashback: Five months ago** _

_“His name is Randall Flynn,” Grace said, “He used to work for the Department of Defense. Rachel and I have long known that he was instrumental in turning the power off, but how and why? These questions eluded us.”_

_“We had our hypotheses, one of which turned out to be true,” Rachel interjected, “Grace here finally has confirmation.”_

_Miles leaned forward in his chair. For 15 years his only goals had been surviving and rebuilding. He couldn’t contain his excitement at the thought of a different goal, one with meaning, to turn the power back on._

_“Randall has a factory up in Ontario. He took me there. It houses a massive device that inhibits electricity. It is similar to an electromagnetic pulse.”_

_Miles was very familiar with EM pulses due to his days in the military. They were often associated with nuclear explosions, although the government had devised a way to produce EMPs without the total annihilation and nuclear fallout that came with bombs. EMPs were a rapid burst of electromagnetic energy that could disable all electronics within miles, but not across the entire world and not indefinitely._

_“We thought that Randall might have a network of these devices across the entire globe, in order for him to shut down everything,” Rachel explained, “but we never knew where they might be, or if they were even real. Until Grace saw one.”_

_“The one in Canada is integral to keeping the power off here, but if we took out that factory…” Grace trailed off, allowing Miles and the other attendants to contemplate the consequences. The power would come back on._

_“Okay. You’ve convinced me. We need to take out that factory,” Miles said._

Miles tried to focus on the present. During that meeting five months ago, they had had only two pendants, Rachel’s and Grace’s. Now they had four, including Dr. Jaffe’s and Bass’s. Miles sat beside Charlie and silently placed his arms on the table. He gazed at Rachel, but she refused to look at him. What was wrong with her?

“Miles,” she finally looked up, her expression cold, “You’ve been out of commission for a while, about eight weeks. So, we wanted to bring you up-to-date on developments.”

Miles only wanted to know where Sebastian and Jeremy were, but he could tell that he had done something to anger Rachel. He had no idea what that might have been, so he quelled his desire and said, “I’m glad to be back. I look forward to the update.”

Rachel relaxed slightly, and reported on the state of the rebellion, their weapons reserves, the destruction of Philadelphia, the Republic’s attempts to rebuild. Miles tried to pay attention, but his mind kept wandering to Bass and Jeremy.

“Finally, the big news,” Rachel said, “We attacked Randall’s factory. We wanted to wait for you to wake up, but an opportunity arose. We had to take it.”

Rachel had Miles’s full attention now, “What happened?”

Nora spoke up, “I was on the mission. We successfully destroyed the target. Obviously, it was not the power-suppressing device. It was a weapons manufacturing facility. Missiles, bombers.”

“Bombers?” Miles said, “Planes? He was building planes?”

“Yeah, he might still be building planes, maybe tanks, somewhere else.” Aaron said, “We don’t know. But it was extensive. He was amassing an arsenal.”

“So, we still don’t know where the device is?” Miles asked hopelessly. He was answered by silence, “Grace?”

She glanced up and sighed, “I’m sorry, I still have no idea where he took me. We traveled for days, but I’m positive we were traveling north because those few nights I saw the stars, we were always headed toward the Big Dipper. It is definitely in Canada…but I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Miles said, “We just need to get more people on it. Rachel, you once mentioned that the pendants might grow weaker around it, right?”

“Maybe,” she replied, “But it is just a hypothesis and even if it did, it would have to be really close to the device, maybe five, ten miles.”

“Okay,” Miles’s head was spinning as he tried to think through a plan, “We have four pendants. We dedicate them to finding this device. Maybe we could triangulate the position with three pendants. I don’t know, I’m not the engineer, but there has to be some way to find this thing. We need every single spare person on this mission. We have to shut down that device.”

Miles was met with stony silence. His body filled with dread. He had been out of the loop for months. They had been making decisions without him, and he suddenly realized that they had already made a decision on this too. He looked up at Rachel expectantly.

“We completely agree, Miles,” she said, “But Randall is a threat, and we still lack people and weapons. The only advantages we have right now are these four pendants. The Monroe Republic, Georgia, Plains, none of those governments currently have a pendant. The Republic is fatally wounded, but they are already rebuilding. This is our chance to end the Republic for good, and to hopefully unite the eastern United States under one government.”

“This is what we’ve been waiting for,” Nora exclaimed, “We can begin to rebuild the entire United States of America.”

“So, you are just going to forget about the device?” Miles tried to keep his voice level.

“No, of course not,” Rachel continued, “But we can’t pass this opportunity up, so this is our first priority right now. This will give us the power, the people, and the resources we need to defeat Randall and to find the device.”

“So, what is your plan? You are going to just waltz into these countries and hope that the current governments welcome you? ‘Here, take our country, we didn’t want it anyway.’”

“I don’t need the sarcasm, Miles,” Rachel’s voice grew quiet.

“I think you do,” Miles could barely contain his anger, “You are talking about starting a massive war. You are talking about invading three independent countries. There will be mass casualties.”

“There is already war,” Nora spoke up, “The Plains Nation and Georgia are already attacking and invading the Republic. People are already dying. We are trying to stop that.”

“That’s what the invaders always say,” Miles muttered. He looked over at Charlie, who had been silent during this whole conversation, “What do you think?” he asked her.

She seemed surprised and confused. Obviously, no one else in the room had ever respected her opinion enough to ask. After a few moments, she responded, “Miles, I don’t know. Everything is falling apart. There is already war, everywhere. I just want all of the death to stop. That’s what I want, but do I know how to do it.”

She shrugged. 

Miles could see that he was fighting a losing battle if Charlie wasn’t on his side, so he nodded and hoped that he sounded convincing when he said, “Okay, our first priority is to unite the eastern USA, but we continue to look for the device.”

Everything was already decided and in motion, so arguing would do him no good. He had been gone for two months and everything was running like clockwork. They didn’t even need him. He had realized long ago that making armies was his greatest strength, the Monroe Militia, the Rebellion. But the problem with making great armies was that they became something bigger than Miles Matheson. They became something that he couldn’t control, something that didn’t need him anymore. And then other people used those armies to kill each other. He was tired of making armies.

He gazed over at Charlie. She had grown into an adult after Danny’s death, more mature, but also darker and more pensive. He missed her smile and her naiveté. She had annoyed him to no end on that first trip to Philadelphia and now all he wanted was that Charlie back, the one who didn’t know how dark and cold the world could be. He missed that Charlie as if she were dead. If only he knew how to bring that bubbly girl back to life, he would do it in an instant.

He looked back at Rachel, “So on to the elephant in the room. Why didn’t you execute Sebastian Monroe?”

Everyone stopped moving. Total silence. Miles stared at Rachel without blinking.

“I was worried about how you would react if we did.”

“So, you plan to let him live?”

“I was hoping, Miles,” Rachel spoke slowly, “That you would agree that his execution is necessary and clear it yourself.”

“Not a chance in Hell,” Miles responded.

Nora sighed and rubbed her hand along her forehead, “So the wonder twins are reunited.”

Miles held his tongue as a dozen cruel comments came to mind, “Aren’t you all happy to have me back?”

“Of course,” said Charlie.

“And have you all forgotten who brought me back despite the fact that he was walking into certain death?”

“After he kidnapped you and attacked our camp, you mean?” Nora asked.

Miles was on the verge of violence, he took three slow breaths before responding, “He didn’t kidnap any of you. He kidnapped _me_ , so if I forgive him for that, then none of you are in a position to argue with me.”

“And why would you forgive him for that?” Rachel asked.

Miles stared at her, face composed, “Bass and I had some stuff we needed to work through. Kidnapping me was his only option.”

“Miles,” Nora said, her voice dripping with frustration, “Why does he have this hold on you? Why are you incapable of seeing reason when it comes to him?”

“I’m not the one being unreasonable right now. He poses absolutely no threat to any of you anymore. He isn’t the president of the Monroe Republic. He doesn’t have a pendant. He doesn’t have an army. You all want to kill him for vengeance and then claim it was for security.”

“He is a war criminal, Miles,” Nora said, “We just want to prosecute and punish him for his war crimes.”

“Do you guys even hear yourselves right now?” Miles stood up, his chair screeching along the wooden floor, “I’m a war criminal too. Where the fuck was my trial?”

“Miles—“

“No,” he yelled, “Don’t interrupt me. I have killed hundreds of people, burned villages to the ground because they didn’t pay their taxes, tortured countless prisoners and traitors. Do you think it matters any less to those people that I did it five years ago, ten years ago, rather than yesterday? Put Bass and Jeremy on trial, but you better have the fucking balls to put me on trial too. And while you are at it, put Rachel and Grace on trial for turning off the power. And you Nora, let’s put you on trial for the scores of civilians you just killed in Philadelphia.”

He paused, but no one spoke up, no one denied the truth in his words.

“So, how about you all stop being so smug and tell me where Sebastian and Jeremy are.”

************************

Sebastian didn’t raise his head as the large metal door screeched open. He was crouched along the far corner in a tiny windowless prison cell, no bed, no toilet, just a bucket in the other corner. It smelled so disgusting it made Miles’s eyes water. Sebastian had his legs pulled up to his chest, his head resting on his knees.

Miles forced himself to enter the room, despite the smell. He crouched down and touched Bass’s hair lightly, trying not to frighten him. Sebastian finally raised his head squinting up at Miles, obviously unaccustomed to the light.

“Miles?” his voice was weak and scratchy.

“Hey, baby,” Miles whispered.

“Are you real?”

“In the flesh.”

Bass caressed Miles’s cheek and smiled, “I didn’t know if you were alive. To make myself feel better, I’d tell myself that if you had died, they would have killed me. But sometimes, I didn’t believe it. I was convinced you were dead and they just wanted to make me suffer. Nobody ever comes. I thought they were just going to leave me down here to rot.”

“Come on, Bass, let’s get you out of here,” Miles said, putting his hands under Bass’s arms and pulling him up. Sebastian had obviously gotten used to the smell, but Miles needed to get out of this cell as quickly as possible. Bass felt thin and boney. They had been starving him.

He put his arm around Bass and helped him toward the door. Rachel and a guard stood in the way. Miles glared up at them.

“Miles,” Rachel said, “You can’t honestly think that I am going to let you take him out of here.”

“He is very threatening right now, isn’t he?” Miles replied, “Starved, dirty, unarmed. Don’t act like you’re afraid of him, Rachel. But you know who you should be afraid of? Me. So, step back.”

She paused for a few seconds, searching Miles’s eyes, and finally stepped aside.

“We’ll be guarding your apartment to make sure he doesn’t escape,” Rachel yelled after him.

“Whatever,” he muttered and walked out of the door.

**************************

Miles lit the fireplace and heated up a large bucket of water. Hot water from the tap, that was one of the things he missed the most. Bass sat on the bed and watched him, his eyes lidded, his body weak. Finally Miles had enough boiling water to form a small pool in the bottom of the bathtub. He mixed it with cold water until it was the perfect temperature, and then carefully removed Bass’s dirty, tattered uniform. Sebastian still looked at him like he couldn’t believe he was real. He sighed and closed his eyes as he sat down in the water. There was an angry scar on Bass’s left thigh that hadn’t been there before. Silently, Miles took the soap and a sponge and scrubbed his body.

Bass looked up at him, smiling, “I thought you were going to die.”

“And I thought that you knew me better than that. I’m Miles Matheson.”

Bass chuckled and splashed the surface of the water like a child, “What about Jeremy?”

“He is in prison too, but he gets food, a shower, time outside.”

“Good,” Bass said, his eyes still dreamy and soft as he gazed at Miles.

Miles started to scrub his hair. It was greasy with filth, “What happened to your thigh?”

“You don’t remember?” Bass said, still serene as he swirled his hands along the surface of the water, “During the explosion, piece of wood.”

“But that scar looks…bad.”

“They didn’t treat it for a few days. It got infected, but finally Rachel insisted that they give me antibiotics. I thought I was going to lose the whole leg, it was close.”

Miles was overwhelmed by rage and gratitude. Rachel could have just taken Bass’s leg off since antibiotics had become a priceless commodity, but making him wait days for treatment…

“What now?” Bass asked, softly.

Miles knew that he was asking about the long-term, but Miles couldn’t think that far ahead, so he replied, “Well, I think you are as clean as I can make you, so we’ll dry you off and get you some food.”

Bass grinned, and dunked himself to wash off the soap. Miles dried him off like he was a child, but Bass didn’t complain. He just kept staring at Miles with unabashed joy. It was infectious. Miles grinned at him as he dressed Bass in a set of his own clothes, which were slightly too big. Bass looked adorable in them.

They sat at the table by the fire, and Miles doled out small portions of food to Sebastian, who ate them frantically. Miles wanted to let him stuff himself, but he knew how dangerous that could be. After a few portions, Bass finally looked up, satiated enough to focus on Miles again.

“The Republic?” he asked.

Miles paused, choosing his words with care, “Philadelphia was pretty much destroyed, so they moved the capital to Boston.”

“The Republic still exists?” Bass’s joy was corrupted for the first time since he had first seen Miles in that cell.

Miles decided not to sugarcoat it, “President Neville is rebuilding. He wasn’t bluffing that night in your office. He had some of the generals on his side. Spies from Boston claim that he executed anyone he thought was loyal to you.”

“How many?”

“Don’t know, maybe three dozen officers.”

“Collins? Rader?” Bass asked, his face contorting with anguish.

“Yeah, Bass, all of them,” Miles whispered.

“So, are we supposed to call it the Neville Republic now?”

Miles just shrugged. Did it really matter? Tom had won the battle, and Miles knew enough about his personality to fear the consequences.

“He’ll be gunning for you and me,” Bass murmured, “He’s vengeful.”

Miles simply nodded in agreement. He stared into the fire for a minutes, thinking. Sebastian didn’t interrupt him. When he finally looked back up, Bass’s joy had completely disappeared. He looked tired and broken and afraid.

“You should rest,” Miles said.

“Come with me,” Bass stood and extended his hand out to Miles. He led him into the bedroom and started to take off his jacket. 

Miles stopped him, “Bass, you’ve been through a lot. You’re still weak, you don’t have to do this.”

Sebastian responded by kissing him lightly, “This is all I dreamed about in that cell, that you would be alive and that I would get to touch you again.”

He tried to pull Miles’s shirt over his head, but Miles hissed in pain as the stiches below his ribs pulled. Bass stopped, and Miles managed to remove his shirt himself. There was a long clean scar along his side. Bass bent down and kissed the length of it, making Miles sigh.

There was another incision on his abdomen. Bass danced his fingers along it and gave Miles a questioning look.

“They had to stop some internal bleeding, I’m told.”

Bass kneeled down and kissed that pink scar as well. Then he stood and licked a circle around Miles’s tattoo, just as he always did.

“Come here,” Miles whispered pulling his chin up and kissing him. He licked Bass’s lips gently, a question, and Bass opened his mouth, allowing Miles to deepen the kiss. Desire flooded through Miles’s body and he pushed Bass onto bed just a bit too roughly. Sebastian was the one who hissed in pain this time.

Miles pulled back, “Sorry, what did I do?”

Sebastian sat on the bed and smiled faintly, “Just sore and cramped from sleeping on concrete for weeks. It’s fine.”

Miles laughed, “We are a pretty pathetic pair right now, aren’t we?”

Bass grinned and nodded, “Yeah, a little worse for wear.”

Miles pulled Sebastian back up and removed his shirt and his pants and then kneeled in front of him. Bass had looked so broken and boyish sitting in that bathtub. Miles had wanted nothing more than to devour him.

He licked around the head of Bass’s cock as the blond grasped Miles’s hair and gazed down at him. Bass’s hold on his head was tender, unlike last time. There was no anger or hatred. Miles wrapped his mouth down the entire length of Bass, sucking in. He groaned and sat down onto the bed as if his knees had given out. They probably had, he was still weak from malnutrition.

Miles looked up his lover as he bobbed up and down on his cock. Bass’s head was thrown back, his mouth slightly opened as he panted. It drove Miles wild and he quickened his pace, trying to keep watching him. He had always loved doing this because of the control. Sebastian was at his mercy, a pool of desire that pulsed for only Miles. He cupped Bass’s balls, drawing that gorgeous sky blue gaze back down. Miles moaned around the cock stretching his lips and Bass smiled lazily, lightly caressing Miles’s cheek.

“Just like that, baby,” he whispered, “That feels so good.”

Miles smiled and licked circles around the head, pumping the shaft slowly. Bass threw his head back again, lost in the warmth of Miles’s mouth.

Miles took his time, driving Bass toward the edge and then slowing down, again and again, until Bass was shaking and convulsing with need.

“You are such a fucking tease,” he moaned, “I want to come in your mouth.”

Miles sucked the head of Bass’s cock as fast as he could, his hand pumping in rhythm with his mouth. Bass tightened his hold on Miles’s hair, thrusting as he cried out Mile’s name and shook violently.

Afterward, Miles licked his lips wantonly as Sebastian gazed down at him smiling.

“Your turn,” Bass said, but Miles stopped him. He had looked so broken and thin in that cell. Miles wanted to give him something without expecting anything in return.

“There will be plenty of time for that later. Come here,” he pulled Bass into his arms and onto the bed. He planted light kisses onto Bass’s shoulder, drowning in his scent. He smelled like soap and sex. Sebastian moaned deep in his throat and snuggled closer to Miles, drawing his arm around him and sketching light circles into Miles’s hand.

“There was a time when you would have followed me anywhere,” Miles murmured, “Would you still?”

“Dreams of flying to Hawaii again?” Bass’s voice was light and wistful, still coming down from the high of being with Miles again.

“Would you?” Miles repeated.

Bass turned in Miles’s arms, their faces inches apart. Bass’s blue eyes studied him. It had been his eyes that Miles had first fallen in love with. They still made his breath catch in his throat.

“Remember how I chose you over the Republic that night in Philadelphia? I understood my decision. I chose you. You’re my world. I’m sorry about everything. I’ve been so stupid—“

“Shh,” Miles shushed him, pressing his lips to his, “It’s the past. It’s done. And we’ve both made horrible decisions.”

“I’d follow you anywhere. So tell me where it is you want us to go.”

Miles gave him a lopsided grin.

“Canada.”

*************************

A few hours later, after Miles and Sebastian had devised a plan on how to break Jeremy out of prison, Miles had given Bass a gun, bolted the door and made his way through the encampment to central command. He knew where the pendants were kept. Rachel had decided to trust him and had given him a key to the building, probably simply to avoid his wrath. He rubbed his fingers along Ben’s pendant, mesmerized as it glinted in the candlelight.

“Miles?” 

He jumped slightly and turned toward Charlie as she stood in the doorway of central command. He smiled and brought the pendant to his side as if were trying to hide it, only realizing afterward how suspicious he looked.

“What are you doing?”

He decided to go with honesty as much as possible, “I just wanted my pendant. It didn’t seem safe to keep all of them in the same place.”

“Your pendant?” she asked, but there was no malice or accusation behind the question.

He stepped toward her, “Well, maybe not mine, Ben’s pendant. I like to think that he would have given it to me, though, if he’d had the chance.”

He was standing right in front of her, only a couple feet separating them. She still had that sad look on her face, the one that didn’t belong.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you and Monroe were more than friends?”

Miles stopped breathing from the shock. He hadn’t expected her to be so blunt. He twirled the pendant in his fingers, a nervous habit.

“Because it was the past. It didn’t matter.”

She breathed out, almost a laugh, “Miles, the past is one of the few things that does matter. It is the reason we are all here, where we are, in the present. It pushes us into the future in ways we can’t control.”

Miles did chuckle at that, “Fine, I guess I just didn’t want to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because, Charlie,” his voice rose slightly in irritation, “It’s Sebastian Monroe, the most hated man in our little section of the world. I know that you blame him for Ben’s and Danny’s deaths.”

Charlie opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off, raising his palm into the air, “And I completely understand why you think that. That is not a judgment. If I were you, I’d hate him. I’d want nothing more than to kill him. But, I know him in ways…Hell, sometimes I feel like I know him better than I know myself. I know what he used to be, Charlie. I know you never quite believed me, but I dragged him down with me. I dragged him into the darkness, and then I just left him there to rot.”

Miles turned away, feeling tears coming to his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of Charlie about this. He couldn’t expect her to bear the weight of his love for Sebastian Monroe. That was his to bear alone.

He felt her hand as she touched his shoulder, gently, turning him back to her.

“Miles,” she whispered, her eyes finally full of light, the light that he never wanted to see fade, “You made your choices and Monroe made his. You are only responsible for your choices. If there is anything I’ve learned in all of this, that is it.”

A tear slid down his cheek.

“You don’t have to fix his mistakes for him,” she said.

“I’m not,” Miles murmured. He felt absolute resolve flood his body. He could see his path, clear and unfettered, in front of him. He knew exactly what he had to do, “I’m trying to fix my mistakes, and then some.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I love you, Charlie,” he cupped her cheek with his hand, “You saved me. Do you know that? You saved me on that journey to Philadelphia. I’ve never said ‘thank you.’”

“That’s because you didn’t have to.”

He pulled her into a hug and held on, memorizing everything about her, just in case he never saw her again. He wanted to remember every detail. 

She pulled back and smiled up at him, “Why are you being so weird?”

“It’s just good to see you again. That’s all.”

Her smile faded, “I heard you took Monroe from the prison. What are you going to do about him? You can’t let him go.”

“I wasn’t going to, but I hoped that maybe in time, people could forgive him like they forgave me,” it was the only blatant lie he had told her, but it felt like ash on his tongue. He hated lying to her. 

“Could you ever forgive him?” he asked without thinking, instantly regretting his slip. It was an unfair to ask her that question. She looked down, truly contemplating it.

“I don’t know. That’s the truth. I honestly don’t know.”

Part of him was relieved to hear it, because she had made his decision for him. He had been oscillated back and forth about whether he should tell Charlie what he was planning, whether he should ask her to come. But it was a selfish request. He wanted her to come because he needed her with him. He wanted to have the two most important people in his life with him on his most important journey. But it wasn’t fair to her, to ask her to be around Sebastian, to forgive Sebastian. He had been so close to asking. He was grateful, now, that he hadn’t.

He smiled at her, memorizing her face and hugged her again.

“I should get back to my apartment. It’s late. See you tomorrow,” he forced the second blatant lie out of his mouth, touched her cheek one more time and then stepped around her and out the door without looking back. It was never a good idea to look back.

*********************

_Charlie,_

_I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t let anyone know what I was planning. I didn’t think that they would let me take Bass and Jeremy on my journey to find and destroy the device. I wanted to tell you when we talked, but I was too afraid you’d try to stop me. I was too afraid that I wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’ to you if you asked me to stay._

_I’m also sorry I couldn’t kill Bass for Danny and for you. I know you’ll never believe me, but I am as much to blame for all of this as he is. I meant it when I said that you saved me from what I’d become. Now, it’s my turn to try to save him._

_I’m done playing war. Our only goal should be to restore power across the world for everyone. It is the only thing that matters to me._

_Someday you will live in a world of light._

_Your Loving Uncle,  
Miles_

Charlie had read the letter five times, tears rolling down her cheeks, before she crumpled it up and threw it at the wall. She wandered to her window, gazing out on Lake Ontario. The air had turned crisp. The leaves had started to turn red and yellow. Winter was coming and Miles had decided to run away to Canada. Not exactly the best time of year to travel north, but she supposed that he had no choice. This journey was his chance to save Sebastian and Jeremy from the hangman’s noose, just as much as it was his chance to save the entire world.

Ever since Danny’s death six months ago, Charlie had been obsessed with killing Monroe. Not a minute went by that she didn’t rejoice in the thought of his head on a spike. Then she had climbed into the back of a Humvee and the whole world had tilted. Miles had been dying because of an attack that Charlie had helped orchestrate. Miles had always told her that when people started firing missiles and bullets at each other, it was just as likely to kill a friend as it was to kill a foe. In that moment she finally saw that he was right. And Monroe, she oscillated between violent rage and quiet empathy for him. He had killed her brother and she had almost killed his lover. Watching him cry over Miles in that Humvee, Charlie’s world, always black and white, had turned a depressing shade of grey. Nothing made sense anymore. Who was good? Who was bad? Who should die and who should decide who dies?

She sat on her bed as day turned into night and the world grew quiet. Before she could talk herself out of it, she picked up her crossbow, holstered her handgun and packed as much food as she could carry. Miles, Sebastian and Jeremy had left the previous night with one of the pendants and Monroe’s Humvee. Charlie could only steal a horse. She didn’t stand a chance of ever catching him, but was that any reason not to try? She didn’t belong here with her mom and Grace, the people who had destroyed the world. She belonged on the road with Miles, with the people who were trying to save it.


End file.
